


Growing Old Disgracefully

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 366 [35]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Supernatural
Genre: 20th Century, Airplanes, Airships, Betrayal, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bombing, Buckinghamshire, Cars, Chocolate, Cornwall, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dictionary, Emotions, England (Country), F/M, Family, France (Country), Gay Sex, Germany, HMHS Britannic - Freeform, Illnesses, Italy, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Journalism, Jumpers, London, M/M, Marriage, Masks, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Multi, Olympics, Panties, Picnics, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Radio, Retirement, School, Scotland, Surrey, Sussex, Teasing, Television, Trains, Wall Street Crash, Weddings, World War I, Writing, industrial action, warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 24,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The Complete Cases Of Sherlock Holmes And John Watson. All 366 cases plus assorted interludes, hiatuses, codas &c.1914-1936. After their final case together it is a matter of a genteel retirement and living peacefully together on the downs for John and Sherlock, growing old gracefully and..... and if you honestly believed that, I have a bridge to sell you. For cash.
Relationships: Bronn/Arthur Dayne/Jaime Lannister, Lucifer/OMC, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Elementary 366 [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555741
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Contents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sixcatlawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixcatlawyer/gifts), [bookworm4ever81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm4ever81/gifts).



** 1914 **

**Coda: Lucky Break**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_John's nephew has a fortunate eye-problem_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1915 **

**Coda: The Winds Of War**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Death falls from the skies, and nearly kills a Watson on the tracks_

 **Coda: Distant Guns**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_Sherlock worries about family, his and John's_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1916 **

**Coda: Way Out West**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Sherlock and John head west, and there is sex on the beach_

 **Coda: Timing And Mining**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Bronn Blackwater is a broken man, and another big ship sinks_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1917 **

**Coda: Family**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_John nearly loses his son to both the War and the boy's 'family'_

 **Coda: Boy To Man**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Two handsome men visit the cottage, but John is not jealous (!)_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1918 **

**Coda: Relative Losses**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Sherlock and John each lose a relative, but neither is mourned_

 **Coda: The Son Also Rises**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Ivan Leeds finds out the truth – John Watson is his father!_

 **Coda: Seventy Not Out**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Chatton Smith visits the cottage, having a break from his insatiable lover_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1919 **

**Coda: A Royal Visitation**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_King Tane of Strafford Island and Mr Anthony 'Tiny' Little visit the cottage_

 **Coda: Recovery**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_War and its aftermath are still claiming victims in the duo's families_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1920 **

**□ Coda: Masks And Manoeuvres**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There is an art exhibition, and poor Ivan calls at a bad time_

 **Coda: Speech**  
by Sergeant Odin D'Arcy  
_Baldur's noble son makes a speech on his father's retirement_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1921 **

**Coda: Cause For Celebration**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Three births, one death, and John marks St. Placidus's Day_

 **Coda: Overcome**  
by Mr. Luke Jackson-Giles, Esquire  
_A funeral, and two men both know what will happen later_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1922 **

**Coda: Charge!**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_There are two weddings and an electric railway locomotive_

 **Coda: 490**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_John get a surprise from something he had kept under his bed!_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1923 **

**Coda: Noises Off**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There is a new member of the Royal Family, and Sherlock makes a bad joke_

 **Coda: Campbell**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_Sherlock loses his stepbrother_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1924 **

**Coda: Dials, Dances And Descendants**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There is a radio, a seduction, and a house purchase_

 **Coda: Knight, Knight**  
by Sir Edward Jukes, Baronet  
_Sometimes help comes without even being asked for_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1925 **

**Coda: Making Waves**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Actually John's memory is not going – the door was red_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1926 **

**Coda: Strike One**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Sherlock is still delivering justice to all_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1927 **

**Coda: Driving And The Dark**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_The duo go by car to Surrey, and John finds himself in the dark_

 **Coda: Who's The Boss?**  
by Inspector Tristram Gregson II  
_Gregson's son's daughter is getting married – God help him!_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1928 **

**Coda: Words And Games**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Sherlock uses his words_

 **Coda: An Apology**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_A certain consulting detective seeks refuge in semantics_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1929 **

**Coda: Boxes And Bangers**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_John gets a new car, and Sherlock's nephew is a broken man_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1930 **

**Coda: Double Blaze**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Someone loses their temper once too often – and loses their life_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1931 **

**Coda: Earthmover**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There are celebrations for a birth, and John sits up too quickly_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1932 **

**Coda: Idol Wild**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_New chocolate, delicious cake, and questionable leaders_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1933 **

**Coda: Love And Loss**  
by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire  
_There are several passings, and an emotional inheritor_

 **Coda: Sampler**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_Sherlock receives something in the post that makes him cry_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1934 **

**Coda: Northern Dangers**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There is a new houseboy, and something lurking in the deep_

 **Coda: Trophy Husband**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_John declines a long ride but gets..... come on!_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1935 **

**Coda: Britishness And Blue Lights**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There is a Silver Jubilee, and the garden shed is painted_

 **Coda: Somewhere Else**  
by Master Fraser Macdonald III  
_The danger signs are there....._

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

** 1936 **

**Coda: Leering, Literature And Life-Bans**  
by Doctor John Watson, M.D.  
_There are embarrassing elderly relatives, then there's Sherlock and John!_

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	2. Coda: Lucky Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1914\. As all the experts are proven wrong (again) about the brevity of this new war, at least one family member is spared the horrors of the trenches.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It had not been all over by Christmas.

I had been granted what at the time had seemed only a temporary respite last year when my nephew Jack had come down with some form of winter flu which had barely waited until autumn, and it had not been until the start of this year that he had finally been able to sign up. I knew that Stevie was desperately unhappy and Hetty resigned to it but it turned out that the Gods of luck were with us Watsons for once; my nephew was found to have a mild degenerative eye condition which, while it would not greatly affect his sight in normal everyday use, made his wielding a gun unwise. Instead he joined up in a non-military capacity which, although I was sure he did not like it, made all around him heave a (silent) sight of relief. Especially as we knew that his disinherited younger brother 'Heinrich' was on the front line fighting for the enemy.

The war started badly for the Entente, with the British and French armies pushed back and Paris itself coming under bombardment at one point before the Germans were pushed back. But they had clearly been prepared for just such an eventuality, and from the Channel to the Swiss border there appeared the terrible trenches that would ensure the war (on the Western Front, at least) mostly went nowhere for the next three and a half years, while millions of innocent young men died just because the vile Kaiser Bill wanted even more land. War was horrible!

One thing that I should say here, especially since so many modern historians insist on claiming that Great Britain did not need to get involved in this conflict, is to remind the reader of German ambitions in this war which were later revealed to the world as the September Programme, so-called because it was drafted in that month. While our Nation would not have ostensibly been made to suffer as a losing party in Germany's then seemingly likely victory, Berlin would secure Belgium, cripple France, take that country's imperial possessions to establish an empire to rival our own, and with the new vassal states carved out of its gains from Russia would be poised to take us on on far better terms at a future date. Anyone who thinks that this war was unnecessary on our Nation's part is frankly a fool!

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	3. Coda: The Winds Of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1915\. Everyone makes their contribution to the war effort, and John also very generously makes a contribution towards testing a new chocolate selection. But death rains down from on high and only the intervention of a distant sibling enables John's brother Stephen to avoid it on the tracks.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

The war was brought home to us rather too vividly when German airships bombed the ports of Great Yarmouth and King's Lynn that January. That the Hun would go after civilians was regrettable but unsurprising; we really were dealing with the lowest of the low. The rain of terror from the skies would continue for over a year as the damn Zeppelins could fly higher than any aeroplane of the time, but by 1916 the development of exploding bullets would bring these behemoths crashing to earth with their murderous crews. 

That May we had a visit from my brother Stevie since Hetty was visiting her parents with young Mary and Stephen, and he had pointedly not been invited (he admitted that there may or may not have been a small celebration whisky around the time that his wife had told him that). We spent a very pleasant week together, although for some reason he insisted on lodging at The Majestic Duck rather than the cottage, and always shook his head at me when I met him in what may have been perhaps slightly less than perfect order of a morning. The only cloud in those blue Sussex skies was the knowledge of the terrible war that was still raging in the trenches not far to the south across the Channel. 

The village itself had made a small (minuscule) contribution to the war; I remember the old iron railings being removed to help 'the war effort' and although I doubted they would be much use to anyone I supposed that it all helped to boost morale. And I had purchased one of the new 'Milk Tray' chocolate selections for my brother to take back to his wife. They were I knew most excellent because I had very selflessly purchased a second box and tested them, despite some smirking blue-eyed bastard just... smirking!

Said smirking blue-eyed bastard received a telegram during my brother's stay but unusually did not tell me what was in it, although I did note that it had come from abroad. We accompanied Stevie back to Berwick Station on his last full day when my love surprised him and me by asking if he might divert to Edinburgh on his way home and deliver some important documents that my friend needed sent to a lawyer in the Scottish capital (Stevie was living in Helensburgh just north of Glasgow at this time, having been made a full partner in his firm and put in charge of all its Scottish branches). In return Sherlock paid for an upgrade to first-class accommodation for my brother which was nice of him, although I was suspicious as I had thought he had told me that he had sold his Scottish interests some years back. Still, I said nothing. I trusted my Sherlock.

The next day I found out the reason for the gift. There had been a terrible railway accident at a place called Quintinshill† just over the Border and only a couple of miles from where we had solved the case of Bad Baron Dowson in Gretna. Over two hundred people dead, mostly soldiers as one of the trains had been a troops special. And the disaster had involved the very train that Stevie would have been taking back North – except his transfer from the Glasgow to the Edinburgh sleeper had meant that he had passed through the scene of the disaster just ten minutes before the worst railway accident in British history had occurred there!

“Sherrinford sent me a telegram from his new home in the United States”, Sherlock explained later. “I did not want to say anything directly because your brother is, for all his fine qualities, a little fatalistic. He might well have felt that he was changing history by not being on that train.”

I could see his point.

“It really is like having a guardian angel”, I said with a smile. “We are so lucky to have him!”

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

_Notes:_   
_† At a signal-box just north of Gretna Junction, a slow train was 'wrong-roaded' (switched onto the southbound track) to allow two fast sleeper trains to overtake it. The first (the one containing Stephen Watson) passed by but shortly before the second, a troop special came in from the other direction and smashed into the local train; the special was so telescoped that it lost two-thirds of its length in an instant. The second sleeper ran into the wreckage before it could be stopped. Poor work practices by the two main signalmen were the chief factor in this disaster although the fact that their superiors knew of their rule-breaking and had done nothing, plus the war situation which meant that the line was running at around forty per cent busier than usual, did not help. This was the worst accident in the history of British railways, with around three times the casualties of the Tay Bridge disaster, but because of the ongoing war it would end up less well-known that it should have been._

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	4. Coda: Distant Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1915\. John's son Ivan is off to war and the best that the doctor can do for him is to have him sent somewhere slightly less dangerous. Sherlock also has concerns over his other family the Hawkes, which lead to strange men in Wiltshire.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

John had had a narrow escape with his nephew Jack at the start of this seemingly endless war of mud and vile human behaviour, and I knew that he also feared for his son Ivan who had only not signed up because his wife Anne was expecting. When she sadly miscarried that August he told John of his resolution to join up by the end of the year. My love asked me if I could help with the young fellow's wish to join the campaign against the treacherous Ottoman Empire in the Holy Land (despite all the British had done for them against the Russian menace over the years, they had still gone and stabbed us in the back at the worst possible time) and, recognizing this as a considerably less dangerous theatre than the Western Front, I had obliged. John had cried when he received the letter of thanks which told him that his son was on his way to war, especially as he now knew that his disinherited nephew 'Heinrich' would be fighting somewhere on the other side but in the European theatre.

I was also concerned for my own grandsons Tobias and Trelawney, now twenty-two years of age. As both heir to a large estate and someone who had just married Toby was mercifully excluded, and his father's reputation for fairness and honesty stood him in good stead in Wiltshire. But Trelawney was another problem entirely; my nephew Tantalus (in between moaning that the young nobleman was trying to kill him through sex and, for some reason, he understood how John felt (?) was I knew terrified of guns yet determined to still do his bit. As well as his administrative job (at which he proved excellent, as it turned out) I owed my friend 'Ginger' a great debt for his excellent suggestion as to how to sort matters, and several of his agents paid surreptitious visits to the Bourne Valley which were 'somehow' noticed by the locals and caused all sorts of rumours as to what important role that Mr. Trevelyan and/or his brother was secretly undertaking for the War Effort. 

“His main effort is to get me bloody pregnant!” my nephew had muttered when I had told him about it. “Some fellows are downright insatiable!”

I had no idea why John nodded so fervently at that.

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	5. Coda: Way Out West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1916\. Sherlock and John take a holiday in Scotland, revisiting someone they once helped, seeing somewhere far out and just enjoying time on the beach admiring the beautiful scenery.  
> Oh come on! Please tell me that you did not believe that!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

We were once again back in Scotland. After a brief visit to Stevie and Hetty, Sherlock and I had first called in on historic Iona and then returned to the Western Isles after an absence of some twenty-one years where we had seen Lord Hamish MacGarry whose succession to his grandfather Alexander we had secured in somewhat questionable circumstances (The Adventure of the Two Clansmen). He was now some twenty-six years of age and married with two sons of his own, so his line was secured for the foreseeable future. His cousin Alan had of course apprised him of what we had done and the lord greeted us warmly, insisting on putting us up for our night in Lochboisdale for which I was grateful as the sea-crossing had been choppy. 

The Isle of Harris to the north of South Uist is of course famous for its woollens, which was my main reason for agreeing to the visit as Sherlock had purchased one in London one time and had loved it. So we had come here to where they were made so that he could order a slew of the things, and I had not said yes solely because he had promised to fuck me wearing each one in turn and nothing else.

Not _solely_ because of that!

While we were in Stornoway, Sherlock managed to persuade a boatman there to take us out to St. Kilda, the most western outpost of civilization. I was a little nervous because of course there was a war on and the evil German U-boats had sunk many ships off Britain's western coasts, but we made it safely to the tiny island†. We were able to stand there knowing that there was nothing but several thousand miles of ocean between ourselves and the New World.

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

Of course we had sex on the beach! You have to even ask?

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

_Notes:_   
_† This proved to have been a timely visit, as wartime privations and economic difficulties led even the hardy islanders to abandon their outpost just fourteen years later._

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	6. Coda: Timing And Mining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1916\. The dynamic duo meet another set of friends in the second half of their Caledonian caper, John frets over his son's safety, someone gets an award, and another big ship sinks.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

On our way back south we first visited Tobermory and the Isle of Skye before calling in on Mr. Bronn Blackwater and his lovers, who were then living somewhat ironically in Kyle of Lochalsh, where Mr. Lannister had famously 'disappeared' all those years ago, and whom we had last seen in person some five years back when our friend had been a complete wreck.

It was good to see that some things did not change.

“Poor Bronn”, Mr. Dayne smiled as Mr. Blackwater snuggled into Mr. Lannister's broad chest. “Jaime's and my heats started up again at the start of this year; much shorter than before but even more intense. We managed at first, but then I had a really bad bout of winter flu and it somehow affected my, er, timing.”

I winced as I realized. At least Mr. Blackwater had been able to have rests while both his lovers' 'heats' were in remission. But with them now alternating.... poor, poor man.

“We love him so much”, Mr. Lannister smiled, toying with his lover's hair. “It is difficult when we both want... you know.”

“Not with each other?” I asked.

For some reason they both blushed.

“We tried that”, Mr. Dayne admitted. “It seemed to somehow supercharge our heats; we had to spend a whole week taking turns inside the poor fellow, sometimes even.... uh, together. He had to take a full week off work to get over it.”

“Never again!” Mr. Blackwater muttered, smiling crookedly up at Mr. Lannister. “At least not until I am fully recovered.”

Both his lovers rolled their eyes at him. He was asleep again by the time we left.

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ

My son Ivan had safely reached Egypt as part of the British effort against the Ottoman Empire's vulnerable southern front but had then spent much of the year in a hospital there having been badly affected by the heat, even though they were on the coast rather than my own old base in the middle Nile. I fretted over his safety but could do nothing except lie in my lover's arms and worry. 

There was a brief lighter moment when, as part of an effort to boost morale, the King-Emperor gave out was a number of awards for those assisting the war effort at home and this included my love's grandson Trelawney. With conscription now a thing to replace the terrible loss of young life in the trenches, this at least quieted those few who moaned about some people not doing their share (and quite a few of the moaners were too busy moaning to do their own share, I noted). 

The year was also marked by three major events. In the War, the Germans finally challenged the British at sea but the Battle of Jutland was inconclusive; we lost more ships but it was they who fled back to their ports with their tails between their legs. Also at sea and as a consequence of the War there was the loss of the ill-fated Titanic's sister ship 'Britannic' which hit a German mine in the Mediterranean and sank in under an hour despite the design changes implemented after the loss of her sister. Fortunately this disaster occurred close to the coast and all but thirty of the over one thousand people on board were rescued.

The third thing was the attempt by Irish nationalists to stab our Nation in the back with their Easter Rising. Incredibly some of them approached Lady Holmes for assistance but luckily for them there was a hospital nearby (it was quite wrong of Sherlock to frown at me when I had suggested that she could have been even more cruel by making them listen to some of her dreadful stories). Talking of which Sherlock, who could be cruel when the urge came upon him, had received a telegram from his brother Randall boasting about how now he was on the Continent he no longer had to read any of their mother's dreadful stories – so my love arranged with his parent for them to be specially couriered to the pest, with demands for full reviews once he had suff.... read them. 

Hah!

ϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙϙ


	7. Coda: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1917\. Tragedy is only narrowly averted as John is alerted in time to rescue his son from being shot for desertion, but like so many Lieutenant Ivan Leeds returns to England a broken man.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It was three years since the start of the Great War yet here we were, over a thousand days and far too many broken young bodies later, and it was pretty much a stalemate. Britannia continued to rule the waves and Imperial Germany’s use of unrestricted submarine warfare in an attempt to stop that had finally brought the United States into the war on our side. But more than balancing that out was the loss of our allies the Russians, whose constitutional sufferings (partly facilitated by the vile Hun) had allowed that bastard Kaiser Bill to transfer more and more troops to his southern and western fronts. Stalemate but something had to give soon, either the increasingly beleaguered Allied trench lines which would not receive American reinforcements for some time, or the tottering German economy.

I sniffed mournfully and wrapped myself ever tighter in blankets which seemed to do precious little to keep out the cold. Sherlock brought me another cup of coffee and placed it on the table next to me, then sat down and pulled me to him. I went willingly, more grateful than ever for his superhuman warmth.

“I am sorry. John”, he whispered. “But at least we got to him in time.”

The part of the world to which I had fled over three decades ago had become an important theatre in the war, with the Ottoman Empire threatening the vital Suez Canal link and Great Britain's direct links with its eastern Imperial possessions. With the Western Front claiming so many British and Imperial lives the defence of that waterway had been secured but hopes for an advance into the Holy Land had stalled, until two weeks ago when our brave men had won a great victory at the Third Battle of Gaza. 

But that victory had so nearly proven to be a terrible personal cost to me, and I had Sherlock to thank for avoiding a tragedy. My son Ivan had been court-martialed for desertion and would have been shot as was common practice at the time had not a colleague of his, a Lieutenant Christian Carton-Jones, had the kindness to send a warning telegram to Ivan's wife Anne and she had in turn had had the good sense to contact me (although to her I was only her son's godfather and husband's patron). The full weight of the Holmes machine was immediately thrown into action and Ivan was now being shipped back, having been honourably discharged.

“It was partly my fault”, I muttered. Ivan had wanted to see the Holy Land, and I had used my (Sherlock's) influence to get him into a regiment that had been assigned there. Yet it had so nearly got him killed. 

“You only did as he asked”, my love reassured me. “Besides, if he had gone to the Western Front….”

He trailed off but I knew that he was thinking not only of the horrific casualty rates in those terrible killing fields (mathematically I knew that Ivan would have been more likely to have been killed there even before he had journeyed out to Egypt earlier in the year), but that my disgraced former nephew 'Heinrich' was fighting in the Kaiser's army. The thought of my nephew wielding a gun against my son was unbearable. Sherlock pulled me even closer and whispered to me that it was all right to cry. 

For once I let myself do just that.

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The reason that Anne, who I had come to think very highly of, had turned to me was that her marriage to Ivan had led to an estrangement with his 'father', Major Matthew Leeds who was now the squire at Stoke Fratrum whence we had once visited him and his wife Elizabeth – my brief, one-time lover. One of her widower's failings was an ardent hatred of Catholics and his prospective daughter-in-law's faith had been too much for him, even though Ivan had made it clear that any children they had would be allowed to choose their own religion when they were old enough. 

With two other sons and a daughter by this time, the squire had formally disinherited Ivan not knowing of course that the boy was my blood, not his. Even when Anne had given birth to two boys there had been no reconciliation and I had wondered if one of the reasons that Ivan had enlisted might have been in an attempt to regain his father's approval. If so he had failed.

What had made me even angrier however was the discovery soon afterwards that the major had been informed not just by Anne but also by the Army of his son's actions, and they had been offered the chance to have him returned home only for the bastard to insist that the full punishment be carried out. Had it not been for the wonderful Lieutenant Carton-Jones (who survived the war but was severely traumatized by his experience; Sherlock and I made sure to take care of both him and his family in Monmouthshire) we would not have known until it would have been too late. I hated the villainous squire for that!

The whole affair was resolved shortly before the end of the year and Sherlock accompanied me down to Plymouth to greet my son off the ship. He had clearly been shattered by the stress of warfare and I felt bitterly angry towards those who treated soldiers who broke under the duress of battle as cowards. Unluckily his and Anne's second son who bore my name was feeling poorly so she could not come with us, but we were able to accompany Ivan back to Sussex. 

My son was still dazed by recent events but he looked round in surprise when we alighted at Berwick and drove down the road through Chuffingden, finally stopping at one of the terraced houses that Sherlock had had built by the ford a few years back.

“I can't stay with you both”, he protested.

“You are not”, I told him. “Anne has sold the house in Alresford – it was too close to your father's house what with all that has happened – and we found her this place. Plus the garage can use an extra mechanic with all the vehicles on the roads these days.”

He looked at us tearfully. Showing his usual great timeliness, Sherlock stepped in to prevent what was threatening to become a Moment.

“Your wife and children are waiting for you”, he reminded Ivan, “and you can of course call on us any time. Although it may be better if you let us know that you are coming.”

My son flushed bright red, muttered his thanks and almost ran into the house. Sherlock chuckled and clicked the reins, driving me home for a prolonged session of manly embracing. Definitely nothing else.

His not-smirk. Still as annoying as ever!

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	8. Coda: Boy To Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1917\. Some gentlemen visit the cottage, who Sherlock welcomes and John..... yes.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

I was _not_ pouting, whatever anyone said. We had two guests at the cottage, one of whom was my least-favourite Cornish ex-fisherman of all time Mr. Laurence Trevelyan. And Sherlock did not need to keep calling the fellow by his old name of Lowen; he surely knew how much that annoyed me. It was fortunate that I knew he was too good to be doing it on purpose.

The young red-headed fellow who had arrived with the West Country pest was vaguely familiar, although I was fairly sure that we had not met before. He was in his early twenties and of an impressive musculature for one so young. And he really did not need to be wearing a vest and shorts that tight as if he had just come from an athletics meeting and had not had time to change. The young these days!

“I would not have expected you to recognize me, sir”, the young fellow smiled, “as we have only met when I was but a boy.” His accent was Northern but not heavily so. “I bring greetings from both my grandfathers in Cumberland.”

Now I recognized him. Fraser Macdonald the younger, son of Ross and grandson of his namesake who had retired to his native Lakes years ago along with our other friend Mr. Chatton Smith. Sherlock had helped this young fellow some years back when his old school had closed and he had wished to get into a most exclusive one near his home, and the boy had written a letter of thanks that had made Sherlock request some of that manly embracing thing that he liked and that I tolerated for him _despite all that smirking!_ The young man had been injured in a car crash some four years back (something that I had _not_ gone on about for hours whatever any blue-eyed person claimed!) and it had perhaps been a blessing in a poor disguise as he had been unable to sign up as a result. He had a slight limp and used a walking-stick but was still a fine figure of a man, very much a second Fraser Macdonald.

“It is a pleasure to see you”, Sherlock smiled. “I trust that everyone back home is well?”

“Father, my uncles and Chummy are talking about moving to the United States soon”, the young man said, putting his walking-stick aside as he sat down. “I wish them well, but after marrying Edie I am settling in London. We are going to name two of our sons after Grandfather and Chatton, assuming that we have boys.”

Our young visitor had come to London where he had lodged with Mr. Edward 'Ginger' Tudor, the policeman we had helped one time and who now ran Sworldand's for Miss St. Leger. This fellow had married the eldest of Ginger's four daughters; the red-headed policeman had also had eight sons so clearly he had somehow caught some of his brother-in-law Mr. Benjamin Jackson-Giles's prodigiousness! We were surrounded by horn-dogs, it seemed!

“How are the old reprobates?” I asked, not glaring at one of our visitors at all.

“As bad as ever”, Mr. Macdonald sighed. “I have never recovered from telling them that they did not have to try to act all respectable around me as I knew what they were really like. Probably the worst choice of words since some idiot called the 'Titanic' unsinkable! I shall still miss them if they do go though.”

“What do you do in London?” Sherlock asked.

“He is taking over from me and my Italian stallions when we head off to Cornubia”, my least favourite Cornish ex-fisherman said with a leer in my direction. “It takes a firm hand to manage all those _attractive_ men!”

If my man as much as smiled at the annoyance.... damnation, Sherlock would pay for that later!

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He did! Smirking all the time, damn him!

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	9. Coda: Relative Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1918\. The terrible war claims the lives of two men known to the dynamic duo as it finally begins to move against the Triple Alliance. Someone is in for an unexpected stay behind bars, and a family friend has to delay his retirement.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Just days after Ivan's return my emotions were still frazzled by the whole affair, so I was in little state to receive the news that reached us the day after New Year’s Day. On the little regarded southern front the Central Powers had recently won a great victory at Caporetto†, driving the Italians back some distance. Of course any information from so far away, let alone it being a war zone, was bound to take time to reach us but then bad news always travels fast.

“Henry – 'Heinrich' – is dead”, Sherlock said quietly as we sat on the bench outside the cottage. 

I looked down into the little dean and the village below us and sighed. Anne had called earlier that day; Ivan was having nightmares most nights but otherwise was doing better than I had expected given some of the horror stories that I had read about returning soldiers elsewhere. Much as I did not feel it, I knew that we had been extremely fortunate.

“What about his son?” I asked. My lost nephew's wife had given him one son, called Wilhelm after the German emperor and born last year. Her husband had cut off all communication with his English relatives after he had gone abroad.

“Your niece’s brother Arnulf has taken him in”, Sherlock said. “She had no other family.”

I felt sorry for the innocent baby whose father had made such poor decisions in his life, yet I also felt something akin to relief. The thought of a blood relative of mine killing my fellow countrymen – it was horrible!

“John?”

“Uh huh?”

“I love you.”

I looked at him in surprise. Sixty-four now, Sherlock had grown into what one newspaper had rather daringly called recently ‘a silver fox’, the grey and the dark in perfect balance in his always untidy hair making him look positively gorgeous. Whatever the Fates threw at the Watson and Holmes clans, at least I still had him.

“Take me inside”, I muttered shivering slightly.

“What, out here in these temperatures?” he teased. I swatted at him.

“Inside the cottage, you sex-maniac!” I groused. 

He really was terrible. I did not know why I put up with him at times!

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Much as with my lost nephew, sometimes a death in the family has surprisingly little effect on people. Sherlock had warned me that the government was closing in on the treacherous Mr. Bevill Holmes, bastard son of a certain utterly unmissed brother of my friend, and with the tide beginning to turn the lounge-lizard's spawn had made a run for his paymasters only to be caught even before he had made it out of London. He would face a fitting end in the Tower, where he would be missed by very few. 

On a happier note, at the end of August we had the first of two policeman visitors to our little haven in what would turn out to be a momentous year for many reasons. Superintendent Baldur had been set to retire from the Metropolitan Police Service, but the recent police strike and the resignation of the Chief Commissioner Sir Edward Henry in protest at the lack of government support had left the force in a mess. Well, a bigger mess than the usual one.

“A mess of the government's own making”, Sherlock said unsympathetically as he poured our visitor a beer. “At least they finally seem to be getting the war right; I would not give the Germans more than a few months now after they threw everything at us in the spring and failed to break us.”

A year of revolutions in Russia had enabled the Kaiser's Germany to transfer many more units to the already stretched Western Front at the start of the year; the wretch who was the cause of all this suffering had clearly recognized that the longer he waited, the more American troops would be set against him. He had struck in early spring ('the Kaiser's Battle') and had come close to breaching the Allied lines but had then been pushed back. Now after a pause for breath the reports were that the Allied offensive was succeeding if slowly, the enemy increasingly demoralized by what was happening to both them and their excuse for a nation. It was surely only a matter of time, if far too much time costing far too many more young lives.

“What can we do for you?” I asked.

“The government has appointed Nevill Macready as the new Commissioner”, our visitor said. “It is a good choice; he is popular with the men at a time when distrust of those in authority is high. He has asked me to defer my retirement for a couple of years and act as one of his deputies; he has another man that he wanted to appoint but it will be two years before the fellow has sufficient rank. At times like these such things cannot be overlooked.”

“You do not wish to do it?” Sherlock asked.

“Not really”, our visitor admitted, “even though he says that if I do then he will 'bump' me to Commander early, which would boost my pension a lot. The problem is my boy Odin – I should not call him that now he is into his twenties – who will be going up for promotion to sergeant when a vacancy arises at that level in a few months' time. If he succeeds you know full well what everyone will say.”

“Large organizations are much the same everywhere”, Sherlock sighed. “I will contact Mr. Crowley and the Reverend Rival for you, and ask as to which of the miscreants they dislike the most and could benefit from some gaol time courtesy of a highly-able constable who 'just happened' to be passing when they were committing some terrible crime.”

The superintendent smiled his thanks.

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_Notes:_   
_† Now Kobarid, Slovenia._

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	10. Coda: The Son Also Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1918\. The war finally ends – but not before someone discovers a not insignificant truth and confronts John over it.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The 'Great War' was finally over. I sighed as I half-dozed with my man in my arms and thought of all those young lives wasted just because the vile Kaiser Bill, fled into exile in the Netherlands the previous day like the coward that he was, had wanted even more land for Germany. Never again.

At least Ivan was getting better now; he had not had a nightmare for nearly a whole month according to Anne. When I thought how many young men had returned in such terrible condition, mentally and physically – indeed, how many had not returned at all – I shuddered. Although I had fretted when Ivan had gone to London last weekend; a servant of his late mother had apparently kept some things for him after his father had disinherited him, and she had asked him to come and collect them. Even from the grave, the former Miss Elizabeth Bradley was causing me unease.

It was odd that I was thinking about my son because at that moment I heard his voice from outside. Leaving my resident blue-eyed genius in bed I pulled on a dressing-gown and went to the window. Sure enough it was my son. He looked strangely uncertain and I was immediately worried.

“Can you let me in?” he called up.

I nodded and went so to do, knowing from the unhappy growl that someone else was up too. I had the good sense to take him his dressing-gown; my son did not need any extra trauma just now!

Going downstairs I let our visitor in and could see that something was indeed wrong. He sat down on the couch and fidgeted while Sherlock slouched into the kitchen and headed for the new coffee-machine that he had brought recently. I did not like the thick brew that it produced – seriously, one could almost stand a spoon up in it! – but he adored it.

Ivan coughed and somehow contrived to look even more nervous.

“What is wrong?” I asked. 

He looked me fully in the face, and I just knew what he was going to say.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you what?” I deflected.

“That you were my real father!”

 _And_ there it was!

Fortunately as so often Sherlock came to my rescue (he must have already downed three cups by the look of him).

“It happened when John was in Egypt in the mid-eighties”, he said. “A combination of past misdeeds by one of his ancestors that would have sullied his name even today, coupled with my own foolish attempt to keep that from him, led to his spending three years supporting the fight against the mad Mahdists in the Sudan. A modern penance, I suppose you might call it. John met your mother during that time; she was already in a relationship with the man you thought was your father, but she somehow 'forgot' to mention that minor detail to him – until as they say, the morning after the night before.”

“She did not tell you about me?” Ivan said a little too loudly. I winced.

“John suspected, but we did not know about you until she asked for our help on the matter of your grandfather Colonel Warburton's poisoning at the start of 1889”, Sherlock said. “She had married the man that you knew as your father very soon after the relationship, and when John saw the four-year-old you, he knew. The anonymous relative who put money into that lump sum you received on your twenty-first birthday was of course him.”

“And you never said?” the boy asked incredulously.

“You might consider the legal situation back then”, Sherlock said in a tone of mild reproof. “Legally John could have upset your young life by demanding access to you as his blood son, but that would have been wrong on so many levels. Also our lives have always been somewhat irregular, and back then we were facing one particularly vile opponent who would have thought nothing about murdering you to get at me.”

“I agreed an arrangement with your mother that she had promised to tell you on your twenty-first birthday”, I said. “In return I kept out of your life, much as I did not wish to. But as you neared that date your grandfather the colonel was entering his final illness then and your mother asked to delay until he was gone. She did not mention that she too was unwell; the first I knew of it was when you wrote of her passing just weeks after his. I was furious, but I could do nothing without upsetting your life completely. How did you find out, may I ask?”

“Beatty, one of the servants who used to wait on my mother”, he said. “She knew. Mother left her a letter admitting all, and said she might let me know 'if the need arose'. I suppose she read that speculation in the papers last week about my.... about Matthew. He knew, did he not?”

The previous week a newspaper down in Alresford had done an article about the return of our brave men, and had included some speculation as to the young man before us. Unfortunately this had been picked up by the London newspapers who did not like Ivan's father. But then there was a long list of things not to like.

Sherlock and I looked at each other.

“I am sorry”, Sherlock said quietly, “but there is every probability that he did, and that that was one reason for your being disinherited.”

“And why he did nothing to save me from the firing-squad”, Ivan said angrily. “Then I wish to have nothing more to do with the Leedses. As far as I am concerned I am now a Watson, through and through.”

I sniffed. But it was a manly sniff. And someone could stop looking at me like that.

“Get some clothes on, _Father_ ”, Ivan sighed, “then we can go for a walk and talk over things. Before you both start.... oh my Lord, why are there torn panties on display over there?”

Sherlock sniggered. I just wanted to die!

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	11. Coda: Seventy Not Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1918\. So many things change – but some men are still complete horn-dogs!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

That critical year ended on a happy note as we had a second police visitor to the cottage, this time the recently retired Superintendent Chatton Smith, still living with his lover Mr. Fraser Macdonald on the Cumberland Coast. It was a sobering thought that Sherlock had first met the younger man when he had been but a teenager and now he was nearly fifty. Many – too many – things seemed to be changing so fast these days.

The policeman eased himself carefully down into our fireside chair, wincing as he did so. On the other hand some things did not change.

“Poor Fray is having mixed emotions”, our visitor said. “On one hand it is the christening of his first great-grandson so he is over the moon especially as it will be another Fraser. On the other hand it is his first great-grandson which means that he is getting old – although as he himself says when he is driving the point home to me, older _and_ better!”

“It is good to see that some things do not change”, I said. 

“I shall call in on a friend in Brighton after seeing you”, our visitor smiled, “and then back to Fray in Cumberland. His determination to prove that he still had it in him – and me! – was how he got the sprained ankle that kept him home this trip. I am sure that since Chummy took his boys to a new life in America, he has somehow gotten even worse!”

He shifted slightly in his chair. From experience I could see the harness underneath his jacket and shirt. The policeman caught me looking and blushed.

“Some people are quite insatiable”, I said innocently. Sherlock looked pointedly at me. I may or may not have gulped.

“I also have to thank you again for sorting out that ghastly woman who tried to blackmail our grandson”, the superintendent smiled.

“Swordland's is as efficient as ever under the prodigious Mr. Tudor”, Sherlock smiled. “Although I understand that Miss St. Leger – sorry, Mrs. Zeuson now – still maintains a strong interest in things. Retirement does not seem to have slowed her down at all. Like quite a few people.”

It was bitterly cold in the room from the way that I was suddenly trembling. The superintendent chuckled.

“I think that I might take a look around your village for a while” he said. “Doctor.... _good luck!”_

“He will need it!” Sherlock growled.

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I did! Thankfully!

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	12. Coda: A Royal Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1919\. John does not pout, nor does he sulk when 'Elementary' welcomes a royal visitor and his bodyguard. Even when both the bastards leer at HIS Sherlock!

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

I was very pointedly not smirking, despite the extreme provocation of my beloved pouting his displeasure. Although this time he had more than one cause.

With the war thankfully over the seas had become open again, and this had enabled two more gentlemen from our past to come and visit us. That they were King Tane of Strafford Island and his court steward My. Anthony 'Tiny' Little (who seemed even less little than I remembered him!), and that both were quite clearly leering at me..... I was in for a rough evening once they had gone.

I was sure of it!

“This peace has had mixed blessings for us”, the monarch explained. “The United States seems to have been more affected by the horrors of the trenches than our own country despite its belated entrance into the conflict. There have already been rumblings that they are looking to consolidate their position in our own Pacific, especially with the Japanese so intent on building their own empire.”

“The discussions at Versailles have not gone as I might have hoped”, Sherlock said, “but I find it incredulous that some in Germany seem to think that despite having caused this whole mess, they should not pay for it. One does not commit a crime and expect to get away with it 'because'.”

“It really is wonderful on Tane's island, sir”, Mr. Little rumbled. “You should consider moving there yourself.”

John was clearly horrified by such a suggestion, and after our visitors had gone spent a long evening determined to fuck me into not even considering it. In fact my only consideration was how I was going to pay Tiny the money I owed him before he left England!

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	13. Coda: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1919\. The aftermath of the war continues to damage the families of the dynamic duo, but there are more Scottish scrapes to help take their minds off things as they approach the Roaring Twenties.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Our circle of friends had, predictably, not come through the war unscathed. Just weeks before the whole horrible business had been ended, Gregson's eighteen-year-old grandson Tobias had been killed in the trenches with victory within sight. We had I suppose been fortunate that that had been our only loss; Lord Hawke's third son Harry had wanted to join up but the war had ended a month before his eighteenth birthday, while the same fate had befallen our friend Mr. Blaze Trevelyan's son Austol. And another friend, Mr. Cecil Forrester's son of the same name, had actually landed on the Continent and had been on his way to the Front when the Armistice had come into effect.

We had also had a fortunate escape with Billy – the insatiable Mr. Benjamin Jackson-Giles's second son – who had survived against the odds on the Western Front. His time there had been curtailed when he had been asked to escort his friend Sherlock's nephew young Major Carlyon Holmes back to England, as the latter had suffered a leg injury and I know that his noble father feared for his welfare, but fortunately he and Billy grew as close as his father was to Danny, the two younger men joining the two elder in the 'House of Sin and Ill-Repute' as Danny called it.

Unfortunately, as with many families it was to be the aftermath that proved almost as devastating to our circle. That summer had seen a particularly virulent global influenza, what would later become known as the Spanish Flu (rather unfairly so called because the war had led to a ban on reporting its effects everywhere except neutral Spain). This terrible disease had struck a weakened population just as victory had seemed in sight, and persisted throughout this year afflicting the young and the young adult populations particularly hard. Sherlock's grandson Trelawney saw both the children from his first marriage, succumb; naturally their mother who we had encountered just before the start of the war had abandoned them once she had realized that there was no money to be made out of them, and he had had them brought up by friends of his.

My nephew Jack himself had been ill at the end of last year though mercifully not with the horrible flu, and in one of those ironic twists of Fate which life is apparently fond of throwing at people that illness had brought in the lady who was to help him through the dark days ahead. A nurse called Miss Antonia Belvedere (Toni to her friends) helped my poor nephew through all his travails and I for one was not the least bit surprised when Jack subsequently proposed to her, their marriage taking place on Midsummer's Day.

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In our many adventures together, Sherlock and I had visited every English county but not every Scottish one (although I knew that my love had visited both the Northern Isles during my time in Egypt). Standing here on the windswept southern coast of Orkney's mainland almost at the very top of Scotland, I wished that we had had a case here together. The place was stunningly beautiful.

Sherlock's inimitable mother had died at the end of August and some members of his family had been as supportive and understanding as one would have expected (i.e. I had very unfairly been forbidden from bringing my gun to the funeral now matter how much I scowled). We had both needed an escape after that ordeal, so to mark Sherlock's sixty-fifth birthday he had treated me to a trip north further even than Caithness, scene of our adventure at Foulkes Rath. The war may have been over but the country was still reeling from the events of some two weeks ago when the German fleet which had been impounded in Scapa Flow (the large natural bay sheltered by several of the Orkney Islands) had been largely scuttled by its crews. That we had fought for four years against a nation with so little honour was not so much a shock, more a disappointment.

It seemed bizarre to see all that naval power rendered almost to naught, ship after ship either sunk down in the shallow waters or rolled completely over. I supposed that with time many of them would be recovered (and the German Empire would be footing the bill no matter how much they complained) but it just seemed a waste. Even if those ships had been of the enemy they were still things of beauty that could have been put to better uses. I felt depressed at the fact that they were gone.

“We shall take the boat out to Fair Isle tomorrow”, Sherlock said. “They make the most marvellous sweaters and I thought that we could buy some, and then celebrate my birthday.”

“In the middle of the North Sea?” I asked dubiously, thinking of all those waves.

“With sex on the beach”, he said cheekily. And as I struggled for breath, he added, “wearing only our new sweaters!”

Not for the first or the last time I was sure he was going to kill me through too much sex. Oh well.

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	14. Coda: Masks And Manoeuvres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1920\. John is annoyed because 'someone' keeps almost saying That Word That Starts With The Third Letter Of The Alphabet And Rhymes With Huddling – but at least Sherlock makes sure that he will be ready for life on the road.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

This decade started well enough with my nephew Jack's second marriage yielding a son whom they named Dane after Antonia's father Mr. Dean Belvedere. It was also a time when things were being seen in a new light, although some things stayed stubbornly the same. Including, worse luck, the not-smirk from the blue-eyed genius next to me who was not getting laid any time soon.

We had journeyed ( _incognito_ of course) to cosmopolitan Brighton because some bastard had said that there was an art exhibition that he wanted to see. I had not suspected anything until we were stood in front of the statue of two masked men who were both quite well-known to us, Mr. Ettore West and Mr. Galahad LeStrade. Leaning against each other and with with little more than a bed-sheet that did next to nothing to hide... you know what.

Sherlock looked at the exhibit display card.

“'Hal And Thor, Definitely Not Cuddling'”, he announced. “They have certainly both grown up into fine young men.”

'Up' being the key word in that sentence, I thought wryly. Mr. West's family had unhappily been split over the recent war with two of his brothers not approving of Italy's decision to join the Allies and decamping to Austria, plus there had been some question over his own status here when his mother and father had decided to move to Venice once the war had been over, but Sherlock had settled all that for him. 

Although from the bulge under that bed-sheet, not everything had been settled!

“Could they not have been more discreet?” I wondered. “I know they have masks on and all, but do they have to... you know.”

“Do they have to what, John?” he teased. I glared at him.

“Mention the c-word!” I grumbled. “Manly men do not cuddle!”

“Would you cuddle me naked if we were both wearing masks?” he asked dryly.

 _How the blazes did he come out with things like that in public?_ The bastard smirked at my sudden and slightly increased breathing.

“I am sure that there is a small store-room somewhere”, he growled, and now he was using The Voice, damn him! “By an _amazing_ coincidence, I just happen to have some masks on me. Fancy a... cuddle?”

I sighed. I was so whipped!

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One Mr. Ivan Watson sat on our couch, very clearly seething. Sherlock, being the unhelpful bastard that he was at times like this, was sat behind him holding one of my new Flake chocolate bars in a way that.... we had my son present, damn the rogue!

“I only came round to tell you both that Anne is expecting again”, he grumbled. “Then I walk in to find this”!”

“Find what?” Sherlock asked innocently. “With these new laws on drivers having to use hand-signals, I thought it a good idea to make sure that your father knew what was what.”

Ivan pouted, and I had to work hard to hide a smile. He really was so like me when he did that.

“Oh really?” he said dryly. “Do they also make these new signals while yelling very loudly, 'how do you expect me to grab that at my age'?”

Ah. He kind of had a point there.

“I do know all the signals now”, I said defensively. “For example, waving my hand up and down means I am slowing dowwwwww!”

I tried to make the described motion but ye... uttered a manly exclamation of surprise at the pain before blushing. It had taken me quite a few goes to grasp that manoeuvre, during which Sherlock had been grasping....”

“You are terrible, the pair of you!” Ivan sighed. “Anne and I shall want extra babysitting sessions for this!”

Like that would deter us!

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	15. Coda: Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1920\. Someone of the next generation helped by Sherlock and John gives thanks, and does not roll his eyes at how terrible some people can be at times (he does not roll his eyes that much).

_[Narration by Sergeant Odin D'Arcy]_

I waited for the applause to die down, then rose to my feet.

“Thank you, Bill, for those kind words about my wonderful father who as we all know is indeed well-loved across the Service. Indeed, he is well-loved at home – _as my having some ten siblings attests to!”_

I caught my father's blush at that, and my mother taking his hand. Much as I loved them both, they really were a pair of saps!

“As we go forward from the shadow of the Great War, we know that we are at an important stage in the history of the world”, I went on. “Much criticism has been levied at the politicians at Versailles last year in that they did not invite Germany in to discuss terms but merely presented them at the end as a _fait accompli_. This to me seems to overlook the matter that the nation which caused ten million deaths and the widespread devastation of both Belgium and north-eastern France is still the largest in Europe; indeed I very much I fear that we may come to regret not dismantling it as we did its partner in crime, Austria-Hungary. I also fear that the horrors of the Russian Revolution will have grave consequences further on, both inside and beyond that country's borders. It will be the responsibility of us and the next generation to ensure that all those young lives lost are not in vain, and that we truly can make a land fit for heroes.”

“I would not be where I am today but for five very important people in my life. First of course my dear wife Elizabeth, who is always right about everything” (I caught the blush from 'someone' as I said that). “Then my father and mother, especially my father who deferred his retirement for the good of the Service when he did not need to. And finally my father's friends Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, currently enjoying their retirement somewhere far away. They helped my father on many occasions throughout his long career, and always out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“In this age of ever larger government, such philanthropy is seemingly becoming a thing of the past”. If that happens, then it will be as grave a loss to our Nation as the retirement of my father's friends, who I hope are enjoying the same peaceful and quiet retirement as my father is now set to. Thank you all.”

I sat down to some more applause, and my father leaned over to me.

“Your mother and I will indeed be enjoying our retirement!” he grinned.

I shot him an exasperated look. Seriously, what was the older generation coming to?

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	16. Coda: Cause For Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1921\. It is three in and one out as John's family expands by three new members but Sherlock's contracts by one. So it is celebration, celebration, celebration and..... er.....

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

This year was marked by three births and one death. My nephew Jack's wife gave birth to their second son Aaron (named for a friend of Jack's) who joined young Dane. And my daughter-in-law Anne gave birth to offspring at either end of the year; Henry on the second day and Sarah two days after Christmas. Ivan really was my son, the dog!

There was no need for some annoying mind-reading genius to nod like that! Harrumph!

There was also the death of someone that my love and I had both known. I cannot in all honesty say that this event was deeply mourned on my part.

“Randall has been killed”, Sherlock said suddenly one morning.

“Oh dear”, I said managing about as much sincerity as I could manage (approximately none) and not at all gripping the chair arms to prevent myself from dancing around the room in glee. “How sad. What happened?”

He looked pointedly at me – I was just about managing to hold back from a whoop of joy – but continued.

“He was sent by the government to Athens to help out in their war against the Turks”, he said. “It seems that he interpreted the instruction to 'get into bed with the Greeks' rather too literally. A Macedonian army major found him in bed with his teenage daughter and shot him on the spot.”

“A fitting end”, I said.

“Also a painful one”, he said. “The major aimed his first shot rather low.”

“How very dreadful for him”, I said flatly, wondering if I could slip away to The Majestic Duck and cele....

 _“No_ , John!”

Damnation!

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On a totally unrelated matter, Sherlock later bought me three whole bars of that lovely new Fruit & Nut chocolate all for myself. Because one simply _had_ to mark St. Placidus's Day!

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At the end of the previous year I had suggested to Sherlock that we might look through my and his notes on all the unpublished cases, for which we still received many requests, and see if some of them might now be able to be released to the general public. This task took rather longer than either of us had expected but in the end we were able to greatly increase the size of the Sherlock canon with a further forty cases in 'Elementary 100', from which a number of charities supporting orphans and wounded soldiers greatly benefited. Also Sherlock celebrated by greatly increasing his purchases from a certain shop in Baker Street, so I also benefited.

At least I _think_ that I benefited. I do not remember much of that autumn for some reason.

I was saddened at the end of the year when the Irish Free State (later Eire) broke away as arranged, leaving the United Kingdom with only the six counties of Ulster as Northern Ireland. I supposed that partition might have been the lesser of two evils as compared to saddling the new state with several hundreds of thousands of very reluctant citizens, but after the Irish had come close to stabbing us in the back during the Great War my attitudes towards them had hardened, as had Sherlock's despite his having been born there.

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	17. Coda: Overcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1921\. The strength of a family is sometimes in what goes unsaid.

_[Narration by Mr. Luke Jackson-Giles, Esquire]_

He might be sixteen years my senior and bigger than me (worse luck!) but my big brother Ben had no right to give me that sharp look when I placed a single white rose on our late mother's coffin. Thankfully my mother's family were still there and even more thankfully, neither was my godfather which avoided so many complications.

“From him?” Ben muttered quietly.

Like out mother now lying there in her final rest, Ben had never been easy with what was known in the family as The Arrangement, which basically involved my godfather fucking my father for money. I nodded, and we both watched as our brother Joe led our blubbering father away. After all those formal events – twenty christenings and that was before one started counting the grand-children and great-grand-children – I might have thought he would have gotten over his terror of such things by now, but he was as bad as ever. 

“He owed her so much”, I said. “We all knew she wasn't really happy with the Arrangement, but then this isn't a perfect world. Not by a long chalk.”

“Dad asked me to stand in for him at the reception”, Ben asked, eyeing me shrewdly. “I think we both know where he's gone, don't we?”

“And we know what will happen when he gets there”, I countered.

My father never coped well with emotions, and we both knew that extreme emotions always led to him hurrying off to fuck my godfather until he had gotten it out of his system. I shook my head.

“Only when Dad's happy”, I said. “When he gets down, they just spend time naked and holding each other. It's weird, but then that's people for you.”

We both watched as Joe guided our father out of the room. He was fifty-eight now and the man in whose arms he would soon be lying naked was seventy-three, but they loved each other as much as Dad had loved my poor mother now finally at peace, God rest her soul. 

Life was a bit of a mess at times.

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	18. Coda: Charge!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1922\. Sherlock achieves fame on the tracks, and the family situation continues to look up for John.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

After John had explained to me what my 'other' family, the Hawkes; had suffered from, I had I admit been fearful that the line might still die out. Of my three grandsons Tobias had married a lady who could not have children while Trelawney was still making my nephew Tantalus regret those nine years that he had on his insatiable younger lover (his last letter had been barely legible, but then it had been just after I had introduced my grandson to the delights of a certain Baker Street shop). With their sisters being married to gentlemen of only average calibre ('not half a clue between them!' John had quipped, which had been doubly annoying as the bastard had known that he was right!) that left just young Harry, now twenty-two, to continue the dynasty. Fortunately he had just married one Miss Geraldine Jephson, and my youngest grandson insisted on inviting us to his wedding even if, on our arrival, he for some reason asked us 'not to be _too_ ourselves'. We were not that bad!

Perhaps I should have warned John before about my wearing the Waistcoat _and_ the Glasses. But I was sure that we were only away from the reception for an hour or so. Certainly not enough to have merited that eye-roll from my grandson when we returned, or for that matter Trelawney's first-pump as Harry handed him over several coins.

Thankfully the new husband had had the foresight to have had a second smaller wedding-cake to hand which had been almost completely made of chocolate. The remains of which John was allowed to take away with him afterwards, and over which he did not coo with happiness as he carried it back to our cottage and would I kindly cut with the smirking?

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There was another wedding later in the year when John's niece Mary married another American, one Mr. Buckler Gerrard. As the wedding was being held all the way up in Helensburgh he had decided not to go, especially after his sister-in-law had sent us a warning note that the groom had such a big mouth, we might well hear it anyway!

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One English doctor who would not be quite so sassy next time lay gasping on our bed. I allowed myself a large smirk. I had earned it.

John had been reading me an article about how I was to be honoured by an electric railway locomotive of all things. The Metropolitan Railway in London had had twenty of the things† rebuilt and were naming them all, with number 8 set to be 'Sherlock Holmes'. I would be joining the likes of Cromwell, Byron, Gladstone, Disraeli, Dick Whittington and Sir Christopher Wren. Some sassy doctor had remarked that this new technology was all very well but they needed a lot of charging to get going.

I had got him going all right. _Three times!_

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_Notes:_   
_† Two engines were subsequently preserved; number 5 'John Hampden' as a static model and number 12 'Sarah Siddons' in working order._

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	19. Coda: 490

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1922\. John discovers that his lover's mind-reading tendencies stretch all the way under the bed to a certain catalogue and you can get your mind out of the gutter RIGHT NOW!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

I paused as I passed the village pub and wondered. It was the day of my seventieth birthday, yet apart from some pretty mind-blowing sex as my morning wake-up call (which I suppose I had sort of enjoyed) I had had no present as yet. Sherlock had told me that he was having something delivered but it would not be here until later in the day. I silently cursed my increasingly slow limbs and set off up the High Street.

England had welcomed the return of peace while mourning the non-return of so many of its young men. Our own little war memorial to four young lives that would never be fulfilled was by the pond just over the road; both Sherlock and I had kept a weather eye on the families of those who had made the final sacrifice. Like everyone I was glad that there was peace, but something about the public's reaction in the years after the war made me uneasy. Imperial Germany had been scotched, not killed, and I feared that the increasing reluctance that I sensed among many of my fellow Englishmen to pay such a heavy price for what was right would encourage our old enemy to try again once it had recovered. At least our own country was moving forward; electoral reform had now extended the franchise to all men and most women over thirty years of age (the latter provision was due to the shortage of men caused by the war and would be dropped at the end of the decade). All those violent acts by the suffragettes had indeed been for naught; it had been the essential part played by women in the War that had secured them the vote – not, I was sure, that that would stop the loudmouths claiming the victory as theirs.

One way in which my own life had changed in those immediate post-war years was when the village garage had set up a petrol-pump on the Lewes to Eastbourne road to the north which was starting to see more and more vehicles, although mercifully it was far enough from the village for us not to hear anything. There was also a sign directing those 'cars' that broke down to the smithy (really a second garage by this time) next door but one to pub, where they could be repaired. Sometimes we even saw the odd vehicle passing through the village _en route_ to the Downs where there were some wonderful views across the English Channel. And down over the town of Seaford, but one could not have everything.

Despite my initial wariness of these metal death-traps I sometimes helped my son – _my son!_ – at the local garage and found myself increasingly drawn to them, rather liking the idea of being able to drive up and down the steep hill on which our cottage lay rather than having to haul my tired muscles along it – especially after Sherlock had been more thorough than usual! Although the villagers knew full well that when I smiled like that, for their own sanity of nothing else they did _not_ ask!

I had promised to buy the light of my life half a pound of barley-sugar at the shops; how he kept his teeth so perfect with the amount of the stuff he got through a week, heaven only knew! As I put my hand on the door to enter the little sweet-shop I heard the sound of something approaching from the distant main road. Probably another victim of modern technology who had thought that he could trust his vehicle, I thought with a smile as I went inside.

I decided to buy a full pound of the stuff knowing how quickly Sherlock got through it – Mrs. Turley stocked the special flavours specially for the one customer that she simpered at, whatever she said – and I emerged into the unusually bright winter sunlight somewhat dazzled. It therefore took a couple of seconds to recognize the vehicle that was drawn up outside the shop, and probably rather too long to recognize the driver. 

_“Sherlock?”_

He grinned at me and slid elegantly out of the vehicle before walking round to me. I stared in awe at the sleek blue-black automobile.

“It is a Chevrolet 490, their latest model”, he smiled. 

I stared at him in shock.

“American?” I asked stupidly, as if I did not know.

“Of course”, he said. “The one that you ringed in that catalogue that you keep under the bed.”

I was sure that the manufacturers of this vehicle back in the United States could have seen my blush. But this thing was _stunning!_ I had seen the company models from the past two years in a motoring magazine and not been that impressed, but the 490 was in another league and I had been quite tempted by the reduced price despite the shipping costs. Now I had one!

Like an idiot I only slowly realized that Sherlock was holding out the keys to me.

“Happy birthday, beloved!” he grinned. “I said that your present would be arriving later today and this is the first part of it.”

“Only the first part?” I asked, awed. He nodded.

“I thought that we could drive to Oakdown Hill, and christen the back seat”, he grinned evilly. “That is the second part. If you are up to it now you are in your seventies!”

I scowled (it was so not a pout) and took the keys off of him, easing myself behind the wheel and breathing in the gorgeous smell of new leather and Sherlock. God but I was one lucky man at times!

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Bless him, Sherlock had even had my personal monogram, the letter 'W' stylized as an electric charge, engraved on both the doors. The back seats were however quite narrow, and it was fortunate that even at sixty-seven my love was as flexible as ever. We christened not only the back seats but the front ones and, in a feat which left me needing a long lie down afterwards, both at the same time!

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	20. Coda: Noises Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1923\. There are gains and a loss to the families of the dynamic duo as well as a gain to the Royal Family itself, from which Sherlock can see potentially great things. And someone is formally told to shut up!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It was a good year, made better when the marriages from the one before both produced sons. Young Lord Harry's wife gave him the first Hawke of the next generation whom he named Tobias after his brother (Sherlock was so happy to see that name in the new generation) Meanwhile my adoptive nephew Stephen married a formidable Canadian lady called Miss Georgina Grissom. And my niece Mary gave her loud American husband (who having decided to settle in Scotland had actually been served with a Noise Abatement Order by the local council!) a son, whom he named Buckler after himself. 

I suppose that one does not get a coconut every time!

Of greater import to the county (although we could not have known it at the time) was the Royal Wedding that year. Normally of course the match of a younger son of a reigning monarch would not have drawn attention or merited much in the way of celebration. But what with the recent war to end all wars and the country looking hopefully to the future, the marriage of Albert Duke of York, King George the Fifth's second son, to Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon had led to Chuffingden again being decorated to mark the occasion. The shy young prince had shown considerable tenacity to persuade the lady to sign up to a life of public service, and I wished them both well.

“She may have signed up to rather more”, Sherlock said when I pointed this out. “The way that his elder brother is carrying on with all those married women of other gentlemen who keep getting told to look the other way, young Albert or his progeny may rule this Nation one day.”

I had some fears that he may well have been right about the Prince of Wales. There was something of a certain recently departed and totally unmissed lounge-lizard about the fellow, despite his popularity and the newspapers contrasting him favourably with his 'stuffy' parents.

“How did I end up with someone who uses the word 'progeny'?” I sighed, ruffling his untidy hair. It was unfair that he was still in his sixties while I was seventy-one, but when I had mentioned that fact last night he had dug out the purple panties and... well, it was going to be another order from the London shop again. And another smirking postman who did _not_ need to chuckle 'best of luck, doctor!' every time he delivered a package. 

_No matter how right he was!_

“King Albert the First”, I mused. “Queen Victoria would have been delighted.”

“Not necessarily”, Sherlock pointed out. “His grandfather Tum-Tum was Albert, but chose his second name to reign as Edward the Seventh. The Duke of York could be Frederick the First, Arthur the First or even George the Sixth.”

“A new King Arthur then”, I sighed. “Maybe he might even have his own Round Table of knights.”

“Possibly”, Sherlock smiled. “Now, I think that I have gone for long enough without your delicious body so come over here and try my lance-a-lot!”

I rolled my eyes at him.

“That was just _bad!”_ I complained.

But when he looked at me I hurried over anyway. I even left behind my nice new Milky Way chocolate bar because I loved him so much! That was true love!

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	21. Coda: Campbell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1923\. Sherlock loses a brother, and a friend.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

That Christmas season was marred by the death of my stepbrother Campbell. He had been ill for much of the year and Alan had taken him of all places to the Scilly Isles, where nearly half a century back I had met Lowen in the terrible Adventure of the Repellent Philanthropist. Sadly the sunshine had failed to work its magic and he had passed five days before the Lord's birthday. I helped Alan arrange for his burial in their local church in Buckinghamshire and made sure that he was all right financially; Campbell had left him everything and thankfully there were no other relatives around to cause difficulties. It was therefore a quiet season for once, and I felt the loss of my stepbrother deeply. He had been a good man and had done much good in the world.

The same month of my loss saw a general election in which the Conservatives remained the largest party but lost seats to both the Liberals and the then still new Labour Party. Stanley Baldwin was out and for the first time ever there was a Labour government albeit propped up by the Liberals, with Ramsay Macdonald as the prime minister. The new political force had promised much and it remained to be seen if they could deliver.

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	22. Coda: Dials, Dances And Descendants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1924\. Sherlock and John cope with technology through dance and, ahem, 'other methods' (hint: Sherlock and John). Meanwhile a new arrival needs help to sidestep some bucolic bigotry.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Being the mind-reader that he is, I was sure that Sherlock must have known my concerns about his grandsons and their medical histories. Fortunately the birth last year of his great-grandson Tobias had soothed some of our mutual fears, and this year young Lord Harry hit the jackpot when the Twin Tendency reasserted itself with two brothers, Harry and Alexander. To cap it all my nephew Stephen's wife gave birth to a daughter who was named Henrietta after her grandmother. Indeed, it was a year for new things.

I stared dubiously at the large box before me.

“We can always return it if it does not suit”, Sherlock said, “if you would like something better to mark my seventieth birthday. I also have a back-up present that is deep blue and very frilly!”

“Down, boy!” I grumbled. “Honestly, you think of nothing but sex.”

“Yes. Your point?”

I shook my head at him and turned back to this 'wireless radio set'. Radios had been around for years and I knew that they served good purpose on the seas in helping ships communicate with each other, especially since the loss of the 'Titanic' had led to shipping companies being belatedly compelled to keep them turned on at all times so they could actually be used when needed (something that the government should have made them do long beforehand if it had had any sense). But a radio in the house to receive 'programmes'? It seemed.... strange.

Sherlock twiddled with some of the dials and a familiar sound came out of the box. My spirits lifted.

“That is Mozart”, I said. “Technology is so wonderful these days. Next thing they will be making sets to go in automobiles.”

He pulled me into a slow dance and began to undo my shirt. I grinned.

“I do love technology”, he said, “and now we have the music to go with my seduction.”

“So seduce me!” I grinned.

He did. And after what he did next I would never again be able to listen to Mozart without smiling!

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We had another visitor at the cottage just before Christmas. Sherlock's nephew Mr. Tantalus Holmes looked around the place and smiled before sitting down very carefully.

“Still looks like Christmas exploded in here!” he grinned.

I did not pout, but Sherlock still gave me a look that said.... no, not with company present. Later, definitely!

“How is Trey?” my love asked with a knowing and annoying smile.

“Getting worse!” he sighed. “He _says_ that he is making up for lost time but it has been ten years since the divorce and he is as insatiable as... well, as some relatives that I could mention!”

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, but apparently despite the lack of any blood connection his nephew had mastered the innocent look that I knew so well and did not believe for one single moment.

“At least he is over the moon now that Harry has had three sons and secured the dynasty”, our visitor grinned. “He says young Toby is the image of his father though how he can tell that from a baby..... well. I received good news about Herry too; he has been appointed chief engineer as we all hoped.”

Mr. Hereward Buckingham, whose brother Lion we had saved from himself back in 1903, had gone to live in the United States where he had become an engineer for one of the railroad companies over there. I was not sure about his preference for the new-fangled diesel and electric locomotives over reliable steam ones, but his well-designed trains had proven very popular and his promotion was surely deserved. His brother had become an accountant at a major company in London and after just a few short years had already secured his first promotion.

“I do however have a problem of my own that you may be able to help with”, our guest said.

“What is it?” I asked. “Not Bill and Ben?”

“No, our local eunuchs have become wonderfully popular with everyone in the village and surrounding area”, Tantalus grinned. “Remember that deal I had with Cal?”

Ah yes, his 'arrangement' with Sheikh Khalid of Arbir, the popular ruler of a small but strategically situated Middle Eastern state. The sheikh had wished to restrict himself to the woman he loved so Sherlock's nephew had, so to speak, stepped up to the plate. Or rather up into the princely bed. At least one hundred and twenty-eight times according to the official records, the dog!

“One of the first ladies that I, uh, attended to had a son that she named Khalid”, our visitor explained. “One of over twenty of the things; they do not do originality when it comes to naming boys there! He was born back in 1902; unfortunately for that part of the world he recently decided to marry a Jewess. They chose to leave and to come to England; Cal did say that he would stand by them but they thought it for the best.”

I shook my head at the narrow-mindedness of some people.

“They are in trouble?” Sherlock asked.

“Carl as he is now had a problem with his blood or something”, our visitor said. “He contacted Cal and because it was possibly life-threatening he sent to me to ask if I was all right with the boy knowing the truth. Of course I said yes; you have to put family first.”

“Of course”, Sherlock agreed. “How can we help?” 

“Carl and Katy found the perfect place”, his nephew said, “near a town called Sandy in Bedfordshire. They want to start a family in a few years time once they are settled, but unfortunately the current owner is, the estate agent was kind enough to warn them, virulently anti-Semitic so they may well not be able to secure it.”

“That is not a problem”, Sherlock reassured him. “I can arrange through Mr. Tudor at Swordland's to have someone presentably Christian to step in and offer the full amount for an instant sale.”

Our visitor beamed.

“I had better be getting back to London then”, he said. “Trey's place is off Regent's Park and just round the corner from your old house in Baker Street – _and some cruel relative that I could mention introduced him to a certain shop there._ If you hear of him laying me to a well-earned rest any time soon, you will know exactly who was responsible!”

Sherlock blushed fiercely.

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	23. Coda: Knight, Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1924\. A new member of the gentry gets Sherlock's help for a third time – before he even asks for it!

_[Narration by Sir Edward Jukes, Baronet]_

It hardly seemed possible that it was over twenty years since I had been waiting at Tweedmouth Station, a train had pulled in, and the most perfect example of manhood filling his own railway uniform like a Greek god had stepped out onto the platform. My beautiful blushing Jumbo, now Sir Brencis Bassett-Evans, Baronet.

Now also broken, lying in our hotel bed gasping for breath. I had just fucked a baronet!

“You”, he grumbled, “are getting worse!”

I worked my way up his impressive body – so much more massive than my own although still all muscle, and also so much more to work into a happy puddle of goo – and toyed with his nipples. Impressively after coming so violently that he had nearly bucked himself off the bed, he began to get hard again.

“Not bad for a fellow heading towards fifty”, I teased. “My horny hooker, my perfect mate. I love you so much, Bren!”

After all these years he still looked uncertainly at me when I said things like that. I knew that he thought nothing of his looks but it was like I had read somewhere; with some people the goodness just shone through. I continued to play with him and he smiled goofily at me.

I was so damn lucky! So I set to work to make sure that he did not even have the energy left to manage a smile!

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It was fortunate that Bren did not like reading the newspapers, for there was an article in the 'Times' the following morning that would have made him mad enough to track down the writer and tear them limb from limb (not that I would have stopped him). The normally cautious paper had in reporting our awards come perilously close to saying that we were.... well, that we _were_. I was sure that most people back in Northumberland knew just what our relationship really was but even in the Roaring Twenties one did not talk about such things, and any man who was openly in that sort of relationship with another man could expect severe opprobrium. All those good works we had done in our home county could be undone by one malicious London journalist. 

I thought on the matter for a time then turned my attentions back to Bren. One thorough blow-job later he was in no fit state to make it out of the bed let alone the room, and having left him a covered plate of food I went to see that friend of Mr. Holmes's that he had recommended to me one time, Mr. Edward Tudor.

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My namesake was like Bren another tall fellow though older, spindly rather than muscular, and ginger rather than dark-haired. He had taken over the running of Swordland's, the information agency that had assisted Mr. Holmes several times, and he listened patiently as I explained the problem. He read the article and frowned.

“Mr. Pym again”, he sighed. “One of those so-called journalists who is always targetting people that he disapproves of, yet somehow he never manages to live his own life to the same high standards. Strange, that.”

“Is there anything that can be done?” I asked hopefully.

“Most likely him if he is not careful!” he said to my surprise. “Last year he made the mistake of trying to track down Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson; he had heard somewhere that they were still in England and set himself to find them. He was advised not to pursue the matter and to mend his ways, but he has since been seeking out other people related to or helped by them instead. And now he is going after friends of the two gentlemen, presumably hoping to draw them out in response. I think that it is time he was told to desist.”

“Will that work?” I asked dubiously.

“He will be told to desist by Miss Terry, one of the capital's chief assassins”, Mr. Tudor said. “He will know who she is; she gave him the warning last time which he has subsequently tried to circumvent. She will make clear the consequences – the very terminal consequences – of ignoring her 'advice' this time. Should he persist in his inquiries, he will be viewing the Thames from a low and rather unfortunate angle.”

I almost hoped that the unpleasant journalist would ignore such good advice. Almost as in completely and utterly.

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There were no more articles about either myself or Bren during the rest of our stay in the capital. I may or may not have strutted when I had to help him out of the train at Belford – if he would wear those tight shorts of his, he should damn well be prepared to face the consequences! – but I kept a straight face when he looked suspiciously at me. Even when his eyes watered on the short walk back to our house, and in front of the smirking servants when I had to help him up the front steps. He would not be up to much for some time.

I had underestimated him, for he staked his claim on me that same evening and carried me around our bedroom roaring his pleasure at his too having fucked a knight of the realm. Even if he had to have a lie down afterwards. And a nap.

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A week later, I learned that Mr. Pym had not taken Miss Terry's advice and had gone after yet another of Mr. Holmes's friends. I felt quite sorry – for the Thames, which was dirty enough as it was.

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	24. Coda: Making Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1925\. Technology continues to baffle, there are yet more new family members, and John's memory is actually not wrong as he is about to find out what lies behind the green door.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Sherlock's influence was called into action again this year, when a nasty little gossip magazine called 'Cooking With Gas', the sort of rubbish that I would certainly never have even glanced at, published a scurrilous article attacking his grandson Lord Trelawney for his part in the war. Incredibly the normally trustworthy 'Times' picked up the article and was vaguely supportive of the claims made against the young man, at least until Sherlock had a letter from one of the top spymasters during the war published. In it he said that of course he could not go into detail but the young man had done sterling service for his Nation that had saved many lives (this was indeed true; as part of his work he had detected a major design flaw in a new type of tank that could have had disastrous consequences had the vehicle gone into production unchecked), and the result was that the horrible rag was forced to close with its few finances being used to help wounded soldiers and their families. 

Our families also continued to grow that year, as Lord Harry's wife produced a fourth son for him, whom he called Lion after his cousin, and my niece Mary had a daughter who was named in her honour. And that was not the only new thing that year.

“Television?” I said, trying to stop my hat flying away in the stiff offshore breeze. “Pictures on a screen? Whatever next?”

We were staying down in Eastbourne for a time as the cottage had needed some major repairs undertaken. That summer had been very dry and a crack had appeared in one of the side-walls, necessitating the sort of work that would have made living there very uncomfortable (I was for some reason not allowed to suggest playing 'Let's Traumatize The Construction Workers'). The recent passing of both the Malones had meant that instead of heading to Brighton as we had originally planned we had come here to help sort out their estate on behalf of the Rocklands. Incredibly the voters of the St. Marylebone constituency which lay close to Baker Street had, for reasons that only they would ever know, elected Mrs. Rockland to parliament which she was duly terrori.... setting to rights.

“Remember our case in 'Marseilles'?” Sherlock teased as we walked back to Rensselaer. Mrs. Rockland had wished her aunt's house to be sold on as a business and my friend had used his connections to find someone who could take it on. 

I pou... scowled.

“You were mean to me back then”, I said. “I fully expected to be heading off to the French Riviera, and instead I got this!”

“I do not remember you complaining when we had sex inside the beach-house with the green door”, he smiled.

I frowned at his words.

“The beach-house had a red door”, I said. “Did it not?”

“Oh yes”, he said, taking out a key. “Silly me. The _green_ door beach-house is for today!”

As I have so often said, he really was trying to kill me through sex. Well, just let him try!

_Please, just let him try!_

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	25. Coda: Strike One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1926\. The Royal Family receives another new if seemingly unimportant member, while someone learns the hard way that one strike and he is out.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

That winter was particularly bad and large parts of the capital were flooded as a result. Among the many affected was Mrs. Muriel Smith, widow of the late and utterly un-lamented Mr. Randall Holmes. Sherlock had kept a weather eye on her after his brother's passing (which being a kind and generous person, I marked every year) and made sure that the insurance company paid out on his policy. She had re-married a London dock worker Mr. William Smith who my love had had checked out thoroughly beforehand, but fortunately he had turned out to be a solid fellow and they were happy together. Now Sherlock again made sure that the repairs to their house proceeded quickly, including making sure that measures were taken to make the area around them less prone to flooding. 

In early spring Elizabeth, Duchess of York (Prince Albert's wife) gave birth to her first child, a daughter whom they named in honour of her mother. The country's reaction seemed a little over the top, I felt, especially as there would likely be sons later on even if the increasingly wayward Prince of Wales failed to marry. My fears about him were proving increasingly well-grounded; Sherlock had told me that only the 'stealth-editing' of pictures of him doing his duties had prevented those shots of him looking totally bored from appearing in the newspapers.

We had another addition to our own family when incredibly Sherlock's fifth great-grandchild was another boy, Peter being young Lord Harry's fifth son in succession! The young dog!

Not long after this it was my son Ivan who alerted us to a further problem in the capital which, rather tiresomely, necessitated a trip there for us both. I also knew that Sherlock had been in communication with Mr. Tudor at Swordland's over some matter so something was definitely up. Although I really wished that he would stop with the knowing looks. _That_ was not what was up. Well, it was, but I was not that predictable!

Look, at my age he should have been damn well grateful!

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Mr. Anthony Hall stared in surprise as Sherlock swept into his office with me behind him, not at all distracted by the fact that the door we went through looked very like the one on a certain beach-house.......

I wondered just how much time I would end up having to serve in Purgatory when my time came. At least the sex-maniac responsible for all of it would be right there alongside me!

“Sir!” Mr. Hall said, smiling what was very obviously a false smile. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Sherlock said nothing but sat himself down in a chair and focussed his azure gaze on the businessman. Who I was not surprised to see was already sweating.

“Mr. Hall”, Sherlock said at last, “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Well, yes, of course.....”

“The first concerns your sacking of five men at one of my mines for their participation in the recent General Strike.”

“Yes”, the manager said. “They had abandoned their posts. Safety first, you understand.”

The gaze resumed. The clock ticking in the corner seemed unnaturally loud, I thought.

“I instructed _all_ my managers not to take any retribution against my employees”, Sherlock said firmly. “Those instructions were delivered to you by registered post, so I know for a fact that you received them.”

The villain across the table was silent. He clearly knew that the game was up.

“My second question concerns a certain villa in Deauville on the French coast”, Sherlock said and I saw his prey twitch at that name. “It is registered in the name of one Miss Louisa Grade, better known as Mrs. Louisa Hall. Your wife.”

“Well, she does own some property under her maiden name....”

“But it was paid for solely by funds from _your_ bank-account”, Sherlock said coldly. “Not your joint one. Yours.”

Again the clock was very loud. Sherlock rose slowly to his feet.

“I have a replacement for you outside”, he said calmly. “You are no longer in my employment. The funds that you have sequestered from my business to fund the lifestyle you apparently think you deserve will be returned to me within the week – and you will be watched from the moment that you quit these premises so do not even think of trying to flee abroad. Otherwise you will have the 'joys' of spending a considerable length of time at His Majesty's Pleasure on top of your many other worries. Good day!”

With that he left. I scurried after him, suppressing a smile. Sherlock always liked to celebrate these 'victories' and there was a good hotel not far from here.

No, I was _still_ not that predictable. I had only worn the turquoise panties on the off-chance.

Shut up!

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	26. Coda: Driving And The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1927\. Sherlock and John continue to be.... well, themselves, although at least when John is not scared he still gets to be held in a manly embrace. Despite that damn smirk!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It had been a frantic start to the year, with a horrible influenza epidemic that March that was claiming up to a thousand lives a day at its peak. The worst effects were of course in London but even in Sussex we had a few cases, and I went round more of the local villages than usual to ease the load on the other doctors.

Not long after the epidemic had passed we got to go up to Cranleigh in Surrey to see Jack and Toni for the day. They had had five children by this time, two boys and three girls, and one reason for our visit was to confirm that Toni was expecting number six. She had wanted to go for a check-up with her local doctor but he had been away at a funeral in Scotland, and she had little confidence in his locum.

“I see that you drove up this morning”, she said. “It is good that you have the car, what with us living in such a rural area.”

“Very useful”, Sherlock agreed. “It would have been up to three trains to get here from our little hideaway plus a carriage ride at either end. Though it did mean that I was subjected to John’s driving which has not improved one iota since he became mobile. If those rumours about them making people pass a test before they can drive are true he may well be forced off the road!

Most irritatingly he had sidled out of swatting range as he spoke so I had to settle for a scowl. My nephew and his wife both chuckled.

“I drive very well”, I said loftily, “although I have noticed that the roads are definitely a lot busier these days.”

“I dare say that the fellow that you passed near Guildford might disagree”, smiled someone who was not letting lucky that evening. “I do not think that your gesture quite qualified as an authorized hand signal.”

“It conveyed what I wanted to convey all right!” I said firmly. “I am coming to like these vehicles, if truth be told. I am the only one in the village garage who can fix some things wrong with them, now that Ivan has gone to work in the new and bigger place over in Hayward's Heath. I can fix almost anything that is wrong with the Charger nowadays.”

“With the what?” my nephew asked, clearly confused.

“Our car is apparently not only female but also named after an electrical term”, Sherlock said glumly, sounding like he was the most put-upon fellow in the history of ever (hah!). “I wanted to eat a packet of crisps as we were driving here but your uncle insisted that we pull over so that I would not soil 'her’.”

I thought of what we still managed to do from time to time on the back seats and grinned. Until Jack, who had somehow managed to inherit his Uncle Sherlock's mind-reading abilities somehow or other, coughed pointedly.

“Uncle John?” he said sharply. “Really!”

“Says the man with five children and number six on the way”, I replied acidly. “Clearly _you_ know how the game is played!”

“Cake!” Toni almost shouted looking mortified. “I made chocolate especially for you, Uncle John. For heaven's sake please change the subject!”

I exchanged a smirk with Jack and just thought of both that delicious cake and, more importantly, the Charger's back seat....

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I admit that when Sherlock told me that we would be having a late holiday in my own Northumberland that November I was puzzled, and when he said that there would be a surprise my thoughts had immediately turned to frilly, lacy....

I may have been seventy-five years old, but at least my mind was still on the right track.

However, Sherlock's surprise turned out to be something rather different. We were back at Bamburgh and I was puzzled that despite the lateness of the season there was a large number of people on the beach, even stranger all looking inland as if expecting something. An aeroplane, perhaps?

The answer when it came was startling. Suddenly a black shadow appeared in the distance, and then night quite literally passed over us. I could see the still blue sky out to see but that too rapidly darkened, and then it was pitch dark except for the lights of people below us.

“What is it?” I gasped.

“A solar eclipse”, he said. “The Moon is directly between us and the Sun, so we have a few minutes when we have night in the middle of the day.”

I understood now, but I still did not like it and pressed close to the human heater next to me who... manfully embraced me. Thankfully after only a few minutes (although it seemed longer) the process was repeated in reverse, the dawn light shooting overhead to lighten our skies once more.

“Never mind”, he said consolingly. “As least you had someone to cud... comfort you with a manly embrace.”

I glared at him. Was it too late to start considering a divorce?

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Probably. Besides, who else would have him?

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	27. Coda: Who's The Boss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1927\. Confetti, it's a wedding! And someone is definitely master in his own home (just don't tell the wife because... er......)

_[Narration by Inspector Tristram Gregson II]_

It was damnably unfair of Isa to have not only laid all my clothes out, but to have also included instructions 'in case I got lost' on the way here. After all these years of marriage to her I was not _that_ disorganized. Given who I slept with of an evening, I did not dare to be!

I sniffed as my beloved girl made her way onto the dance-floor with her new husband. Frankly I could not see what she had seen in the fellow except that he was the younger brother of a king of some minor nation in the Balkans whose name had not enough vowels and was all but impossible to say. Worse, Isa had forbidden me from giving my future son-in-law a Talk before the wedding which had been bad enough but then she had had Words with him herself, which probably explained his shudder when she gave him that look afterwards.

I would have complained about my not being the master of my own house, but Isa would have Not Liked It. The last time that had happened, it had been no beer and no..... you know what for three months! I could have taken a side-job as a wood-chopper and I would not have needed a damn axe!

To cap it all we had our fathers sat at the back of the room, far too close to each other as per usual. Isa had put aside a special cake for them and told them that yes, they could have that and a slice of the wedding-cake afterwards, but if they touched either before our daughter and her new husband – Michael, that was the fellow's name – cut it officially, then there would be Consequences. It had been frankly hilarious to see the two old codgers pouting as she had laid down the law to them like that.

See? I was not the only one round here who was whi.... damn!

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	28. Coda: Words And Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1928\. Sherlock uses his words then aims for (and gets) gold, which leads John to consider a divorce.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

“Aardvark.”

I glared at one seriously unfunny retired consulting detective.

“Just because the Oxford English Dictionary is finally complete”, I said not at all frostily, “we do not have to mark the occasion.”

“Seventy years”, Sherlock grinned. “Just think; they started it when you were but four years old, and I was only two.”

I shuddered at that. 

“Another world”, I said sadly, “one to which we can never return.”

“True”, he said, “but at least now we have each other. Aardwolf.”

Someone was in severe danger of sleeping alone tonight... _especially if he kept shaking his head like that!_

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This was the year of the Amsterdam Olympic Games, although my enjoyment of reading about then was somewhat marred by a sprained ankle I had sustained when.... well, _someone_ really did not need to leave our playthings out on the floor like that! I was never that untidy.

Damnation, that had only been the once! And the bastard could cut with the holding up three fingers like that!

“Never mind”, Sherlock grinned. “Let me try for a gold medal of my own.”

“Just how are you going to that when I ache with every move?” I asked not at all testily. 

He pulled me into an embrace and we lay there on the couch, both naked as the day we were born but happy in each other's arms. This was absolutely....

“I thought I might go for a gold medal in cuddling?” he teased.

I pouted, secure in the knowledge that I had my back to him. He was mean, using that word when I was too comfortable to move away.

“To match the one that you are going for in pouting!” he chuckled.

“I want a divorce!”

He just pulled me even closer into a.... manly embrace. Yes, that was what it was or some smirking bastard was not getting any for at least...... some time.

Who was I kidding?

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	29. Coda: An Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1928\. Sherlock goes a little too far.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

I gave John my most innocent look, the one I hardly ever use when there is not bacon in the immediate vicinity. But for once he was not buying it.

“You promised”, he scowled. “When I told you that your brother and cousin had had those strains after a game with Danny and Benji that had gone ever so slightly awry, you said that you would not make fun of them.”

“I only said that I would not _say_ anything that made fun of them”, I deflected.

“Oh?” he said. “So this article in a society magazine about two elderly gentlemen, one a retired public servant and the other ex-military, both incapacitated through, and I quite, 'too much exercise for those of their age?”

I tried batting my eyelashes at him. That usually worked.

Not this time. Damnation!

“I am seeing them when we go to London”, I sighed. “I will apologize then.”

“Actually it will have to be the week after”, he said. “Now they are both recovered, they are trying it again!”

And to think that some people had the nerve to call _me_ a sex-maniac! Harrumph!

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	30. Coda: Boxes And Bangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1929\. Someone is made to see sense (even if it likely the last thing that they will see for a while) and John gets a surprise on Sherlock's birthday.  
> No, apart from that!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Throughout the first half of that year we had again been working on our still copious notes, in order that we could release more of Sherlock's cases to a general public still demanding them at a level that was exceeding even my publisher's expectations. Again the process took rather longer than expected and there were several that I was disappointed not to be able to include, but we still increased the total by a further twenty to one hundred and twenty, again to the benefit of our favoured charities.

The celebrations for these things were going to be the death of me, though!

I remember that that summer seemed particularly glorious, especially after Sherlock's nephew Tantalus and his lover Sherlock's grandson Lord Trelawney Hawke (thank the Lord my love's mother was up in Heaven and could not write about this!) arrived with Tantalus in a state. His son Carl's wife was expecting with the child due next January, and nothing could seemingly calm him down – until Sherlock suggested he and I take a drive over to Lewes for the day and leave the young men in the cottage.

The bastard only gave his grandson the key to all five of our play-boxes, even the Gold one! No wonder poor Tantalus was out like a light when we came back, something as certain as the strut that a certain someone had inherited from a grandfather of his who.... who was looking suspiciously at me. 

For what I am about to receive, may the Lord let me survive it!

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It was September and Sherlock’s birthday (his seventy-fifth), which meant that he got to pick everything that warm late summer's day. After a long slow and sensual start to the day he decided that he wanted to load up the Charger and head to one of our favourite spots by the nearby River Ouse for a picnic, which he had ordered from one of the great London stores to be delivered to the cottage before lunch-time. And of course there was chocolate!

I had been unusually bereft of ideas as to what to get the man I loved as a present for this particular milestone, but as usual he had forestalled me by telling me that his greatest wish was that, when we returned to the cottage I would grant his one request. Naturally that had me feeling highly-strung for the entirety of the picnic not helped by frequent touches and knowing looks (yes, I _was_ wearing the frilly white panties which I felt ridiculous in at my age but so what?). We also had some of those new Crunchie bars which he would always eat in an obscene manner that would make me hard in..... come on, I was in my late seventies!

Sherlock smirked at me again and I blushed deeply. Hell I was behaving like a maiden who was about to lose her virtue for the first time. Which was about as far from the truth as that mysterious giant planet that they were still looking for out beyond Neptune.

After a gloriously sunny afternoon and some serious making-out on the river-bank we returned to the village. To my surprise Sherlock insisted on dropping the car off at the garage where Kent, one of the blacksmith's boys, was waiting in the garage car to give us a lift home. I wondered what this was all about, the muscular young fellow's smirk not helping, and wondered even more when Sherlock insisted on blindfolding me on the way back to the cottage.

I heard Kent bid us farewell (and me good luck, the bastard!) before driving off in the garage's vehicle, and Sherlock guided me to somewhere in front of the front door. I smiled as I remembered coming here just after we had arrived here the first time and the two of us rolling naked down the slope together. That field was a lot bumpier than it had looked!

“Not that”, my love whispered in my ear making me jump. “You did say that you would do anything for my birthday, John?”

Hell yes!

“Then I wish for you to..... accept this!”

He undid the blindfold and I was temporarily blinded by the brightness of the early evening light even though the sun itself was just over the crest of the hill. Then I stared in astonishment at the sight before me.

“It is a Chevrolet AC”, Sherlock smiled. “The latest model and more efficient that our old one, which only your skilled hands have kept going till now.”

The vehicle was stunning, done unlike my old car in sleek black all over. And engraved on the side of the car was what was my 'W' monogram, just like Sherlock had had done on my old car. I beamed.

“The Charger lives!” I all but shouted. I made to open the door only to find a restraining hand on my wrist.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Have you not forgotten something?”

I frowned. Damn old age; what had slipped my memory this time? He grinned.

“We need to christen her”, he smirked.

Hell, yes!

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	31. Coda: Double Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1930\. As a new Blaze appears, the first one's silence provokes someone to lose their temper that once too often.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Sherlock had laid in another selection box of chocolatey goodness from the village sweet-shop, including some of those new nutty Marathon† bars that I liked. It could not be for a celebration as we had had one the other week when his nephew Tantalus's son Carl had been blessed with twin sons, whom he had named Blaze after his grandmother's second and far superior husband, and Christian after an uncle of his wife. So the news had to be bad this time.

Fortunately it was not bad for us.

“You remember the Wall Street Crash late last year?” my love began, as I toyed with what may or may not have been my third bar. 

“Of course”, I said warily. “It has not hurt you, has it?”

He shook his head.

“My ever-watchful twin saw it coming, as per usual, and warned me to get out in time”, he said. “I passed the warning on to Carl, Luke, Guilford and Anna, but Mycroft…. he chose to ignore it.”

Relations between Sherlock and his eldest brother, always poor, had somehow contrived to get worse in the decade since their mother's death. Mycroft's poor behaviour over the years had as I have said ended in him being alone among the late knight's children in having to share his inheritance with most of his own offspring, which had left him with precious little. Spitefully he had even tried to contest the amount put by for Randall's widow Mrs. Smith (under the terms of Sherlock's late father's will she was entitled to half of his share albeit just the interest from the capital, with the latter going to charity once she had passed) but had only succeeded in losing what little money he had gained and more. He would doubtless have hated us both even more had he known that Mrs. Smith had only been able to fight off his efforts with Sherlock's financial backing, he having paid for her lawyer. 

“So now he is ruined?” I mused. I had always hated Mycroft Holmes for his attitude towards Sherlock and myself, the most hostile in the family after the late and unlamented Torver. “He is reaping what he has sowed.”

I sighed. It only took one family member to make a complete dog's dinner of things.

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The problem of Mr. Mycroft Holmes was unexpectedly solved by that gentleman himself when he went round to his ex-wife's house and _demanded_ her financial assistance. Blaze somehow refrained from tearing him limb from limb – pity! – but as it turned out he did not have to; Sherlock's brother worked himself up into such a state that he suffered an apoplectic shock and was declared dead on arrival at the hospital. 

Oh dear how sad never mind.

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_Notes:_   
_† Later renamed Snickers._

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	32. Coda: Earthmover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1931\. Actually the earth did move for John!

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

The news the day before had been good. My niece Mary had had her third child, and as it was a son she was naming it John. A most excellent choice!

Sherlock smiled as he opened his second letter. I winced; I know that I had agreed to his idea for marking the new family member, but I was getting too old for this!

Probably.

“It looks like the earth moved for other people as well!” he quipped.

I glared at my seriously unfunny friend. Last night in the middle of our fun and games there had been a small earthquake in the North Sea, and although it had not affected us, it might well have done given how 'someone' had really gone for it. Another pair of panties gone west, which meant another smirking postman a few days hence. Certain London shops really could learn to master the art of plain packaging! 

“For who else?” I asked sitting down very slowly and ignoring someone's seriously annoying smirk as best I could. At least there were some pieces of that strange but delicious new white chocolate on a small saucer by my coffee-cup; I had initially been wary of such a strange invention but had come to rather like it. Or at least not to waste it; those three other bars would have gone off had I not have eaten them.

“Mrs. Zeuson and Harry”, Sherlock said, smiling slightly for some reason. “Sherrinford asked me to warn them both that there would be some flooding incident along the east coast and that their little bed and breakfast establishment might be vulnerable. They wisely took his advice and laid in extra sandbags, so were protected from the flooding in their village. Their house is fine.”

“That is good”, I sighed. 

“Need another cushion?” he grinned.

I scowled at him. Yes I did, but was his smirk worth it? Fortunately he proved to be a good fellow by bringing one over anyway for which I thanked him.

“Not at all”, he smiled. “You will need all the rest you can get. Tonight, I am digging out the Roman gladiator uniform.”

I sat up in shock which.... so not a good idea. I was sure they heard the shri.... the manly exclamation of surprise down in the village!

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	33. Coda: Idol Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1932\. Sherlock is doing things with chocolate bars that make a certain retired medical personage wonder if he will live to see his next birthday. There is a comic interlude in London, and charismatic if questionable leaders are discussed.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

When I had asked Sherlock to pick me up something from the sweet-shop to celebrate his nephew Tantalus's newest grandson Tane, this had definitely _not_ been what I had had in mind.

“Ugh!”

I pulled a face and put the rest of the sticky chocolate bar down. These 'Mars bars' were far too sickly for my liking; their Whole Nut rivals were so much better.

“You did not like it?” Sherlock asked. As well as the sweet-shop he had been down to the village to deliver some of his bees' honey to the bakery and the tavern. 

“Too sweet for me!” I said firmly.

He picked up the Mars bar and put it in his mouth – but instead of biting off a chunk like any normal person would have done he began to suck on it almost obscenely. I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Sherlock!” I groaned. “Come on! I am eighty years old!”

“Not until tomorrow”, he said cheerily. “I thought however that you might not like that confection so I brought you some chocolate cake from the bakery.”

“Great!”

“Which I am going to serve with that chocolate custard recipe that Mrs. Malone bequeathed to us.”

“Even greater!”

“Naked.”

He was still trying to kill me through sex! Praise the Lord!

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I looked across the table in surprise. 

“You think that that maverick Mr. Winston Churchill is right about this fellow Hitler?” I asked. “How can you trust someone with his record?”

“Churchill's or Hitler's?” Sherlock asked wryly. “The soundings that I have been getting from Germany of late are ominous indeed.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Human nature”, he said wryly. “It is part of the human psyche to want to find someone to blame when things go wrong, and we can all agree that the current world economic situation is very, very wrong. I have read the writings of this new German leader and he seems mentally disturbed, to put it politely.”

“But Germany is a democracy”, I pointed out.

“Not really”, he said. “These National Socialists have destroyed all opposition so it is a dictatorship in all but name. Once there is no-one to hold a government to account, things can go very wrong very quickly. I have sold everything I had over there and I would advise others to do the same.”

I had my doubts but, as always, the genius proved to be all too right.

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	34. Coda: Love And Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1933\. In a year of departures and sadness all round, Sherlock helps a prodigious friend come to terms with a loss.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

Sometimes you could just see it coming.

Just a few days into the new year our friend LeStrade had passed just short of his ninetieth birthday. When John and I had attended his funeral in Cumberland we could see how deeply this had hit his friend Gregson who was just a few months his junior, and despite the efforts of both families to rally round, the inevitable happened just two months later. Although I would wager that John is right and that they are now running one of the best bakeries in Heaven!

Closer to home we lost my cousin Luke, who had been ill on and off for some time. His passing too necessitated a departure from the cottage, and we headed up to London where my brother Guilford had booked us into a hotel where we could remain undetected.

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The huge form of Benji shook as he sobbed in my arms. He was seventy years old now but still a fine figure of a man, although he looked a wreck.

“Luke loved you”, I said gently. “You knew that.”

“But what am I going to do with all that money, sirs?” Benji almost wailed. “Mr. Luke took care of me but I never had this much in my whole life!”

“It was because he loved you that he left it all to you”, I said, “save that small amount for the godson that you so generously named after him.”

Benji sniffed mournfully.

“It wasn't fair!” he sighed. “He loved me so much and I wanted to have what you and the doctor have, sir, but.... I loved Bertha even more. He was so wonderful when she died, doing everything for me. What am I going to do now I'm all alone?”

“You have quite a few family members, Benji”, I said, thinking that I was understating things by a factor of... a lot, “and Luke has appointed some good lawyers to help you. As for spending it, you have all those grandchildren and great-grandchildren still growing up. You should honour my cousin's memory and use his money for them, as he would have wanted. He left it all to you because yes, he loved you. He loved you enough to overcome the pain he felt when you were with someone that you loved better and to always respect that union before his own desires. That, Benji, is true love.”

As the huge man broke down again I thought of how lucky I was that, unlike poor Luke, I had never had to make that terrible decision. Of course I would have given John up if he had found greater happiness elsewhere, but it would surely have killed me.

Benji's oldest son and namesake, a strapping fellow some forty-nine years old who was headmaster at an East London school and the image of his father, came to take his hand. I smiled at him and determined to help honour my cousin's last wishes for as long as the Lord allowed me so to do.

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	35. Coda: Sampler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1933\. A sad year ends in tears for Sherlock – but they are tears of happiness.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

We suffered another loss that September when Sherlock's son-in-law Lord Harry Hawke died and was succeeded to the title by his eldest son Lord Tobias, then forty years of age. The new lord had just managed to get his eldest son Tobias, then aged ten, into the prestigious De Montfort's School in Lewes (yes, with Sherlock's help). Father and son both met us in the town and thanked us both for my love's efforts.

It was a couple of weeks after that when it happened. I was pottering around the garden when I heard a cry from inside the house. I raced – all right, hurried – inside and found my love staring at the morning mail in shock. He did not seem to be in pain but he was crying as he pointed wordlessly to the small framed item that he had dropped, thankfully onto the couch. I stared at it, turned it the right side up then gulped.

A sampler. A small thing about two foot by one, and of only average quality. But it was what was on it that had caused my love's reaction. On one side there was a cup of coffee, a barley-sugar and a rasher of bacon, while on the other there was a doctor's bag – very definitely my own as it had my monogram on it – three bars of chocolate and, rather oddly, a magazine and an open newspaper. And in the middle with bees buzzing around them, a single word in pastel rainbow colours:

'FAMILY'.

The 'A' was topped with Sherlock's deer-stalker and had a pipe hanging out, while the 'L' had a red cross and a stethoscope wrapped around it. I pulled my love into my arms and held him as he cried tears of happiness. It was just possible that I may or may not have shed a tear myself (although of course mine were manly tears) and that I generously allowed Sherlock a lot of that manly embracing that he liked for much of the rest of that day. But then that was my job, to keep him as happy as he had been when he had seen that sampler.

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	36. Coda: Northern Dangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1934\. There is something long and monstrous (kindly get your mind out of that gutter!), as well as a new man at 'Elementary'.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

Some teasing bastard of my acquaintance had remarked the previous year that gentlemen of our moderately advanced age (shut up!) should consider getting someone in to help with the chores. This unexpectedly became a reality at the start of this year with the advent to Chuffingden of Master Nicholas Colsterworth, one of the many sons of the gentleman formerly known as Mr. Jaime Lannister, one of our friend Mr. Bronn Blackwater's lovers (although for some reason he persisted in using the term 'tormentors' in his shakily-written letters). Young Master Colsterworth was seventeen years of age and the image of his randy father who was currently augmenting the population of Kincardineshire along with his friend Mr. Dayne. And despite being young enough to be his great-grandson, the horny young bastard had within seconds of arriving here leered at my Sherlock! Harrumph!

Master Colsterworth's arrival to Sussex had been arranged with his father when he had rather unfortunately ended up dating a young lady in Scotland who was in fact his half-sister. Hence Mr. Lannister had asked if we might find some post for his son who wished to become a mechanic. Fortunately the young gentleman rapidly took up with Beattie Turley, the grand-daughter of Mrs. Turley who owned the sweet-shop and always seemed to give Sherlock more barley-sugars that he paid for for some reason (yes, and to simper at him!). Luckily I was not the least bit jealous of our new houseboy's lantern-jawed looks or his stunning muscular physique.

_The judgemental silences from 'someone' were still damnably annoying, though!_

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“I do not believe it!” I said firmly. “Some dinosaur that happened to have survived all those millions of years found lurking in the depths of Loch Ness? Someone is pulling a fast one.”

“Plesiosaur”, the smirking know-all at the end of the table corrected. “I would have thought you of all people would believe in monsters.”

“Why?” I asked mulishly. I had planned to go for a drive in the Charger today but someone's wake-up call meant that all that juddering on my poor aching backside.... no. Even with our best cushion I still ached.

_Gloriously!_

“Tantalus has said that he and Trey will come down tomorrow”, Sherlock smiled. “I suppose my almost-nephew sleeping with my grandson is a shade incestuous, but then there is no actual blood connection.”

“Poor Tan”, I smiled. At the start of this year both of Sherlock's nephew and grandson had called again at the college to tell him how grateful they truly were to us both (even if Tantalus had looked terrible; it was a good thing that even at my age I never looked like that). Of course Sherlock had cried copiously after both visits.

And then demanded celebration sex. Twice!

All right, maybe I did very occasionally look just a bit like that.... and that had better damn well not be another bloody smirk!

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	37. Coda: Trophy Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1934\. Sometimes John just feels like a trophy husband. But he also has bad days....

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

“Would you like to go on it?”

I looked up at Sherlock in confusion.

“What?” I asked. He gestured to the book that I had been reading.

“The Orient Express”, he said. “We could travel across the Continent and back again if you really wanted.”

“No thank you”, I said firmly. “I have everything that I want right here.”

“That is so nice of you to say that”, he said.

I smiled at him.

“Then later I may let you wear the green panties again!”

A man in his eighties should not be made to hear something like that unprepared! 

“Your great-grandson is coming over later”, I pointed out, still marvelling that I could say those words after all that we had both been through. “He does not need to be subjected to such things at his age!”

“Toby is a very open-minded boy”, Sherlock smiled. “He did not even flinch when he saw those trophy panties of mine.”

“Only because his father saw them first and moved to block his view”, I retorted. “Unsuccessfully I might add; the boy was bright red when he left. And he has just turned into the drive.”

“Later then!” Sherlock grinned.

It was damnable unfair of him to use The Voice on me just then, especially as Nick was right there cleaning the room and rolling his eyes at our usual ridiculousness. My life was so hard.

Literally!

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	38. Coda: Britishness And Blue Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1935\. There is talk of a potentially important divorce, while the shed behind 'Elementary' gets both a new light and a coat of paint.

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It was the day after we had gained yet another family member, with Tantalus's son Carl having had a fourth child, a daughter whom he was going to call Elizabeth after his wife's middle name. Sherlock had said that he had a surprise for me outside, but that it would not be ready for some twenty-four hours. And no amount of pouting would get him to let me have it earlier.

The surprise, I meant. He let me have it the other way all right!

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After twenty-four hours of not being allowed into our garden he finally relented and I followed him out the back only to baulk at what I saw. Our shed was now dark blue and could probably be seen from the main road over a mile away; thankfully it was partly behind the cottage otherwise the villagers would certainly have had something to say about it!

“Remember London last month?” he grinned.

I frowned and thought back. We had gone to the capital for a short break and the trip had been nothing special except... yes he had shown me one of the new police boxes that they were putting up around the capital, a small blue thing with a lantern on the top and I had remarked that it was just the right size for.....

I suddenly realized just why Nick had been splattered with blue paint yesterday, and quite probably why he had had that knowing look as well. Sherlock was giving me that terrible smile of his.

“Even better”, he said. “if we press a switch when we are inside, the lantern on the top will flash on and off so that everyone will know something is happening.....”

I was already racing to get inside the thing!

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With the country still struggling to cover from the Depression, the government was holding a Silver Jubilee to mark King George the Fifth's twenty-five years on the throne so Chuffingden was once more bedecked in red, white and blue. I felt privately that the gathering clouds over Germany's increasing aggression coupled with our beloved monarch's worrisome son and heir who seemed to actually admire Herr Hitler could not be so easily partied away, but I kept my thoughts to myself and the resident mind-reader. Besides, we marked the occasion with three sets of patriotic panties, none of which would survive to see 1936.

“It is all very strange that the British newspapers are so silent about this Mrs. Simpson woman”, I observed to Sherlock as we lay there after shredding the final pair (if he would insist on cooking naked except for them.....). “She may be Queen one day.”

“She is still married to Mr. Simpson”, Sherlock said as he passed me one of the new Aero chocolate bars (it was a year for that sort of thing and luckily I had liked both them and the crunchy KitKat bars, although neither seemed to keep particularly well). “Worse, she seems to share the Prince of Wales's political views as regards the insane Herr Hitler. I know from my contacts that the government is very worried about the relationship; I doubt that they would allow her to rule alongside him.”

“How could they stop her?” I wondered.

“Our constitutional monarchy depends on popular support”, Sherlock pointed out. “If she does divorce her husband or I suppose we should still say if he divorces her, then I do not believe that many people would stand for her as Queen-Empress. Which would force him into a choice; her or the throne.”

I wanted to say that the heir to the Imperial throne would not abandon his sacred duty for a woman. But I had my doubts – and I was to be proven all too right.

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	39. Coda: Somewhere Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1935\. Even teenagers can sometimes have a strong sense of urgency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This Fraser Macdonald is the eldest son of the original's grandson and his wife Edith.

_[Narration by Fraser Macdonald III, Esquire]_

I may have only been fifteen years old but I was almost a man, and no way was I going to stand for any of that thing when it came to my own kin. Even if it came _from_ my own kin!

My hulk of a father towered over both me and my pest of a brother Edgar, and I wondered if I might actually make it to manhood. He had grown ever more like our impossible great-grandfather as he had gotten older, and had the sort of physicality that suggested he could bury both of our bodies without so much as breaking a sweat. But hell, I was in the right here!

“Now”, my father said heavily, “why were you two fighting?”

Edgar, as ever, tried the innocent look that made him look like he needed the loo. I just about managed not to roll my eyes.

“Edgar was rude about Grandpa Chas”, I said firmly. “He called him a poof!”

I don't know how, but even though my father didn't seem to move I sensed a change in him. Much as the natives standing in the village can sense when the volcano is about to pop.

“Is that true, Eddie?” my father asked.

His voice had that terrible calmness which surely even someone of my brother's complete lack of brains should have spotted. But no.

“He's wrong in the eyes of God”, said someone who stole from the pantry when he could. “He's a sinner, dad. We all know that Grandfather Fraser fucks him like a girl.”

This time there was no mistaking it. My father rose slowly to his feet.

“Fray” he said ominously, “I think that you need to be somewhere else.”

I did not, but the look on my father's face suggested that in fact I did. Like in the next five seconds.

“YesFather!” I said in what was arguably a high-pitched tone. 

I was out the room and halfway down the garden path in under a minute. But I still heard Edgar's first scream. I would have smiled, but somehow my mother would have known so I did not.

As my Uncle Sherlock would have said, a smirk is not the same as a smile!

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	40. Coda: Leering, Literature And Life-Bans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1936\. As Germany pushes its luck in the Rhineland, Dane Watson throws his hands up in despair at his relatives. Someone delivers rather more than a new car and John cannot believe his bad luck. Seriously, another one?

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It had been a worrying year thus far. The increasingly belligerent (if not downright insane) Herr Hitler had marched German troops into the Rhineland, the demilitarized zone along the French-German border, and for some inexplicable reason neither Paris nor London had done anything to stop him. More and more it looked as if his ambitions to 'gather all Germans unto the Fatherland' would lead to another war sooner rather than later. And again started by Berlin.

At least it had been a good start to the day as we had been blessed with some good news. Ivan's son Luke who was training to be a doctor had last year married a most attractive brunette called Miss Sarah Wickham, and was now the proud father of a baby boy – my first great-grandson. And best of all they were calling him Sherlock, after a certain blue-eyed genius who had cried when I had told him the news. Sherlock Watson!

Unfortunately our celebrations had consequences.....

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One extremely annoyed great-nephew stormed into the cottage in a very obviously unhappy mood. Although to be fair he may have had some cause.

“I cannot believe it!” Dane yelled at us. “At my own damn school? Have you any idea what I will have to face next term for this? I will be the only pupil whose relatives have been barred from De Montfort's for life!”

Nick bent a little further over his cleaning at the table, clearly trying to hide a laugh. From the way that he was shaking, he was finding it difficult.

“That is not true”, Sherlock pointed out reasonably. “My grandson achieved that status last year.”

My great-nephew threw a furious hazel-eyed glare at him. 

“That was when Mr. Briggs smiled at Tan 'the wrong way'”, he snapped. “Not the same at all; Trey only got banned because he went and knocked the fool fellow clean out. Not because he has relatives who were caught going at it _right there in the headmaster’s blooming study!”_

Sherlock sniggered and I tried to control a smirk of my own; we both heard Nick's guffaw as he made his escape. Our visitor had a point I supposed, but when Sherlock had come into the study wearing both the Waistcoat and Glasses – well, what with the happy news from that morning and him looking like sex personified, what else was a fellow to do? And the headmaster had been laughing as he had banned us although his secretary had looked scandalized (not enough to prevent her simpering at someone who was old enough to be her grandfather and who was not me, I had noted sourly). 

“Your father thought that it was funny”, I muttered. Dane rounded on me.

“His sense of humour has got even worse ever since he and Mother kept on emulating you”, he groused. “Five brothers and three sisters is more than enough proof of that!”

“Mind the tree”, Sherlock said reprovingly as our great-nephew turned sharply by the 'over-decorated over-burdened spider-infested fire-hazard' (his words) in the corner of the room. The young man glared at us both then stormed upstairs, huffing as he went. 

Sherlock pulled out a notebook and added the school to the impressively long list of places that we had been banned from. We were so bad!

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I was feeling doubly happy that day because I had finally completed my final additions to the now extensive Sherlock canon and tomorrow Nick would take 'Elementary 160' with its forty new cases to the publishers for a final check. It had been hard work choosing the cases to be included and in the end we had put aside notes from well over a hundred other cases (including the several dozen those that my love had undertaken during my time in Egypt) that we had deemed not yet suitable for publication yet, although we would leave those to a later generation. Also the good news from London had been that the awful King Edward the Eighth who had become King-Emperor on his father's death in January had abdicated because, he had claimed, 'I cannot do my job without the woman that I love by my side'. Hah! I had been proven all too right about his shallow character† but the good thing was that his much more suitable brother Albert would replace him and would reign as King George the Sixth. With his only having had two daughters so far that made a new Elizabethan Age likely in the future too.

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It was also fortunate as things turned out that my nephew had stopped sulking and come down when he did, because Sherlock was having my birthday present delivered, a Chevrolet Master (I know, a tad late, but the ship bringing the first one over had sunk and then the idiots unloading the second one at Plymouth Docks had managed to drop it from their cranes!). Hearing that throaty roar as it came along the rutted driveway was one of the best sounds of my life – excluding the ones I could still pull out of the blue-eyed genius of course. The car was black and chrome with the essential Charger monogram on the side of course and..... oh God no! No no no no no no no no _no!_

The young fellow who got out of the driver's side and could not have been twenty years of age was horribly familiar, even though I was sure that we had never met. Nearly sixty years since that ghastly Cornish fisherman had leered at Sherlock's backside in the Scilly Isles, over thirty since the teasing bastard's nephew had done the same, then one family member after another, and now this? My luck could not be this bad!

“Mr. Constantine Irons?” Sherlock asked. The young man smiled.

“It's Costentyn, sir”, he corrected. “The Cornish equivalent. Day is my half-brother; our mother Mona remarried my father who owns the dealership and went to live with him in North Carolina, but I decided to take this chance to see the Old Country. I also called in on my Uncle Lowen in Cornwall on the way here. He, Sal and Sol send their regards.”

I took a deep breath. I was seriously in danger of saying something that I would not have regretted in the slightest when I realized that he was staring past us. Following his gaze I turned and saw that Dane had emerged from the cottage, blinking sleepily and looking as ruffled as a certain blue-eyed someone did of a morning. 

My great-nephew stared back at the visitor and his eyes widened perceptibly. Mr. Irons actually growled and Sherlock interposed himself swiftly between the young men, placing a warning hand on the visitor's shoulder. 

“Down, boy!” he commanded.

I was grateful that Sherlock still had The Voice even if he only ever used it on me. Mr. Irons shook himself, gave one lustful look at my great-nephew and nodded.

“Sorry, sirs”, he said. “I don’t.... I don't know what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, it seems to have come over our great-nephew as well”, I teased prodding Dane out of his trance and earning myself a sharp glare and the sort of teenage huff that could have moved mountains. “Since you have come all this way I am sure you that you can find time to stop for some refreshments, then maybe 'someone' can show you around.”

Both young men's eyes lit up at that prospect. Sherlock coughed pointedly.

_“Everywhere but the spare bedroom!”_

My great-nephew whined in protest and Sherlock made sure to keep the two apart as we all went inside. Ah, to be young and in love, happy and....

“Now that he is here”, Sherlock smiled, “we _could_ ask him to invite Lowen and his Italian Stallions over.”

I glared at him. Just how did one go about getting a divorce?

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_Notes:_   
_† Four years later, the then former-king's character would be proven in one of the lesser-known yet arguably decisive events of the Second World War. A plane carrying German plans for their invasion of France crash-landed in Belgium, and Berlin was desperate to know if the Allies had read the plans and would therefore be prepared. The traitorous former king apparently cared little for the lives of his former subjects because he confirmed for them what they needed to know, thus effectively dooming the Allied cause in the Battle of France._

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End file.
